


Continuations

by indoorbutch



Series: With One Wave of Your Hand [2]
Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indoorbutch/pseuds/indoorbutch
Summary: This is a sequel to my series Alterations. Each chapter in this work will be a continuation of a chapter in Alterations. I recommend reading that chapter before reading its sequel here.I ran a poll to see which Alterations chapter you wanted to see me continue. Ya'all are so GREEDY! You want all of them! Well, I can't promise that now, but for the moment, Chapter 2, Would You, got the most votes, so I will start by writing a continuation of that chapter, and leave this work open for the possibility of more continuations.Another note before I let you be: I started writing for this fandom because I was waiting to find out if I had been admitted into a writing mentorship program. I found out a couple of weeks ago that I got in, and I am going to spend the next three months furiously preparing my novel to go on the publishing market. This is really exciting for me--but it means that I won't be able to update my fanfiction at nearly the velocity you may have come to hope for. I'm sorry! I promise to send you updates whenever I can.  Your investment in my work has meant so much to me during a really stressful time. Love you all!
Relationships: Carol Aird/Therese Belivet
Series: With One Wave of Your Hand [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021705
Comments: 97
Kudos: 256





	1. Would You? Part II

**Author's Note:**

> Before reading this, I encourage you to read part 1 in Alterations. You can find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27110296/chapters/66268462#workskin
> 
> There will be a Part III.

The following evening, Carol called at 7, as she promised.

“Would you mind terribly taking the train out here in the morning? That way we won’t have to worry about getting in and out of the city.”

“Of course,” Therese said. “Is the 8 o’clock train too late?”

“No, not at all. I’ll pick you up at the station.”

This decided, a moment of shy quietness came over the line. Therese glanced surreptitiously toward her landlady’s closed door. Then, holding the receiver in both hands, she murmured. “Or I could come tonight.”

The initial silence made her stomach drop and her heart skip and then—

A low, throaty chuckle. 

“You’re incorrigible, aren’t you? What _have_ I gotten myself into?”

Therese might have been embarrassed by her own forwardness, but Carol’s voice was full of sinful delight. Still, she did blush.

“You _do_ have extra bedrooms,” Therese said coyly. “I could sleep in one of those.”

“Something tells me it wouldn’t quite work out that way,” said Carol, with a rumble in her voice that made Therese’s skin alight with shivers. Then, to her consternation, Carol asked, “Did you see Richard today?”

Therese thought scowling of that very unpleasant experience, of Richard stomping about the apartment and accusing her of things when he didn’t understand, he didn’t understand anything.

 _‘Are we over?’_ he’d demanded.

And with her heart in her throat and her eyes on fire she’d said, _‘I suppose we are.’_

To Carol, she said, “Yes, I saw him. I broke it off.”

There was a heavy silence after this, but it contained none of the sly flirting from before. 

“Did you?” Carol asked, in a slightly distant voice.

Therese frowned, “Of course I did.”

How could she not? What sort of person would she be, knowing how things stood with Carol, if she dragged Richard along?

“It’s quite a decision to make,” Carol said.

“It would have happened anyway,” Therese said. “He wants to get married. And I don’t love him.”

It would be madness to say, with all the conviction she felt, _‘I love you, you, you—’_ and yet Therese had to struggle very hard against that madness.

Suddenly Carol breathed out a sigh. She said, “Well, I am sorry about it, Dearest. Those kinds of things are always very unpleasant. Why don’t you take that 8 o’clock train? I’ll have coffee and things for our breakfast. We can eat in the car, like beatniks.”

Therese smiled, though she felt slightly uneasy now, sensed a change in Carol. Did Carol think it was wrong for her to break up with Richard? Why would she think that? Unless, of course, she regretted…

Carol said goodbye, and they hung up, and Therese carried her uncertainty back upstairs with her.

<><><>

Things were much better in the morning. Carol greeted her at the train station with one of her beaming smiles. She was standing beside the Packard, smoking a cigarette as Therese came out of the station. She opened the car door with pomp.

“Why, hello, Ms. Belivet,” she said. There could be no mistaking the flirtatiousness of it, or of the way Carol’s eyes flicked, subtly, across her.

“Hello, Mrs. Aird,” said Therese, smiling. She resisted the urge to just stand there and gawp at her, and got in the car instead.

They drove back to the house. Carol was in a good mood, and that made Therese think her anxiety from the previous night had been unfounded. Carol said she was almost finished packing. In the kitchen Therese found a big food hamper and two thermoses.

“I thought I’d make us some sandwiches for the road,” said Carol. Then, distractedly. “Just let me finish up my suitcases first.”

“I’ll make the sandwiches,” said Therese easily, and went about it, aware of Carol looking at her curiously.

Then Carol went out of the kitchen. Therese listened to her go up the staircase toward her bedroom. Therese made sandwiches and packed other things as well, cheese and fruit and a chocolate bar she found. She tried the coffee in one of the thermoses and it was delicious, with just the right amount of sweetness and milk. Richard always took his coffee black and assumed that Therese did, too. Now she poured a little out into the cup and drank it down, and then refilled the thermos from the pot, tossing in a dash of milk and sugar to make up for the proportions she had changed.

Carol came back into the kitchen, looked at the full hamper, and gave Therese a pleased wink. She added some beers to the hamper, and a box of cookies, apparently unaware of how a single flicker of her eyelid had driven Therese to distraction. 

Therese asked, “Where is Florence?”

Carol shrugged, “Oh, it’s her day off.”

“So there’s no one in the house but us?”

Carol’s eyes narrowed humorously. Then, she moved toward Therese, like an elegant panther, and when she was standing before her, taller than her, statuesque and perfect, she smiled. 

“At the moment, no.”

“Oh,” said Therese, and looked down, feeling shy. Her gaze drifted to Carol’s hands at her sides and with tentative daring she reached out, touching one of them. Carol’s hands were bigger than hers, her fingers long, like the rest of her. Carol answered her touch by tangling her fingers with Therese’s, and this alone had Therese breathing unsteadily, her heart a galloping deer. Cautiously she said, “Last night, when you asked about Richard… What you said about Richard. I thought, maybe, that you were regretting…”

She trailed off. Carol said after a moment, “Regretting?”

Therese blushed, embarrassed. Would Carol really make her say it? As if Carol didn’t know what she meant? But before she could determine how to respond, Carol was stepping even closer to her. She looked up, startled, and Carol was dipping down. Carol kissed her cheek, just under her fluttering eyelid.

“Regretting… this?” she asked. She trailed her nose across Therese’s cheekbone, and kissed her gently at the temple. “This?” she asked, already dipping lower, to Therese’s jaw. Another kiss, slightly longer, slower; Therese shivered. Her hand that was not holding Carol’s flexed restlessly, and then touched Carol’s hip. Carol moved her free hand, to cup the side of Therese’s face, and the soft sweep of her thumb, to the corner of her mouth, made Therese shiver again. “Perhaps you think I am regretting this?” Carol went on softly, her voice a sultry rumble. It sounded like brandy tasted, sweet, full of flowers and life, and warm going down.

Therese tilted her head toward the silken brush of Carol’s lips, which had just landed on a little spot behind her ear. Therese remembered Richard kissing her there, and trying to elbow him away from her. It was a ticklish spot, and his lips there were irritating. But Carol—Carol’s lips turned the spot into a wellspring of sensation, and Therese released a soft sound, barely loud enough to hear. Only Carol must have heard it, because she made an answering sound, low in the back of her gorgeous throat.

“How could I regret this, Dearest?” Carol murmured. “You are quite the loveliest thing I’ve ever touched.”

Those words made Therese feel like she was _made_ of brandy, made of sweetness and flowers, made of the heat that filled her limbs and pooled between her thighs. Therese sought out Carol’s mouth and was so relieved when she didn’t tease. Carol kissed her at once, still cupping her face, her lips soft but her mouth firm. Therese parted her lips, an invitation, and moments later Carol’s tongue slid forward, stroking against her own with delicious alacrity. Therese returned it, moaned into her mouth that tasted a little of the coffee—just as Therese’s mouth must taste! Therese flashed back on the night before last, on Carol backing her up against the table, lifting her onto it and standing between her legs and kissing her with such ferocity. Therese wanted it again. She didn’t know how she could possibly wait until tonight.

But suddenly Carol drew back with a sharp gasp, saying, “Wait.”

Therese groaned, pressing the top of her head into Carol’s chest. “Not this again.”

Carol released a sharp and merry laugh, drawing her back and looking at her in delight. Carol tugged her ear, as if she were a naughty child, which Therese thought in any other context would have irritated her, but which now filled her with pleasure.

“ _You_ are a scalawag,” Carol said. “Yes, the house is empty. But… we really shouldn’t—not here, anyway. And it’s already nine. Don’t you want to get on the road?”

Therese pouted. Carol smiled, kissing her once, chastely, but murmured against her, “This is the ‘going away’ part of ‘going away together,’ Sweetheart. Don’t you think I’m a woman of my word?”

Carol had never called her Sweetheart before, which to Therese sounded so much more intimate than any other petname she’d used so far. With monumental effort, Therese stepped back.

“All right,” she said. “Since your honor’s at stake.” 

<><><>

They took Route 80 out of New Jersey, and if Therese had felt a kind of anxious tension in the beginning, the roads opened up and Carol put the radio on, and Christmas music flooded the car. Everywhere the snow was bright and white and magical, and Carol in the driver’s seat with her pink scarf and large sunglasses looked quite rakishly handsome. At first Therese didn’t know what to say to her, because everything felt so perfect and she was overwhelmed by it. She kept looking out the window, delighting in everything she saw, thinking she should take a picture, but the car was moving too fast. And it didn’t matter. Her heart took pictures, of everything.

After awhile Carol asked if Therese had brought any books along, which of course Therese had, and she explained how she was reading a new book called _My Cousin Rachel_. Carol hadn’t read it, but said she loved mysteries, so Therese told her all about it. But she had not finished it yet, so they debated how it would end, with Carol saying, “It’s just like all these men to assume the woman is a criminal.”

Therese laughed. “Well, she might be, don’t you think?”

“I hope she isn’t,” Carol declared. “I hope Philip realizes he’s been a nitwit, and that Rachel takes the estate from him and that she never marries again.”

Therese thought of this and smiled, liking the idea. But she knew from the tone of the book that it would be a tragedy, and said so. Then, impulsively, she asked, “Do you think you’ll ever marry again?”

Instantly she wondered why she would ask such a question. But Carol scoffed.

“No, thanks. One husband was quite enough for me.”

Therese could have died from happiness.

After about three hours in the car they decided to get some lunch, and found a town whose name Therese didn’t remember, and a diner near what looked to be the steeple of a church. They ordered tomato soup with crackers and it was delicious, and Carol kept looking at her with a smile that could have lit up Pennsylvania. As they were finishing, Therese reached for her handbag, feeling nervous. She opened it and pulled out the wrapped present she had brought and offered it to Carol.

“For you. Merry Christmas.”

Carol’s eyes lit up, surprised, and delighted, “Oh, no!” she said. “You shouldn’t have!”

Therese grinned, “Open it.”

Carol began to tear the wrapper at the edges, eager but not rushing, and at one point she shook it by her ear as if there was any way she didn’t know it was a record. Therese giggled, and took the paper from her as Carol turned the record in her hands.

“I played it on piano at your house.”

“I remember,” Carol said, still looking at it, reading it, with such pleasure on her face that Therese wondered when the last time was that anyone bought her a Christmas present.

Therese reached for her camera, needing to capture the look on Carol’s face.

The shutter clicked just as Carol was looking up, starting to say, “Thank yo—” and then, “Oh, God, don’t!” she exclaimed, half-laughing. “I look a fright!”

Therese pulled her hand down so that it she didn’t cover her face, and laughed at her, “You do not, you look wonderful!”

Carol looked at Therese’s hand covering hers, and then into Therese’s eyes. Electricity moved between them in a sparking current, and under the table, Carol’s foot nudged her ankle, and then her calf, before stroking from one to the other as Carol gauged her response. Therese swallowed, and moved her hand, lifted her camera.

“Just stay like that,” she ordered.

Carol’s foot was still touching her, and Therese thought her hands would shake, but she managed after a deep breath to take the picture that she wanted: of Carol, watching her with desire in her eyes.

<><><>

In the car a few hours later, Therese asked, “Do you miss Rindy?”

As soon as she said it, she could have kicked herself. Of all the asinine questions, and now Carol’s mouth was tight, the fine lines in her face more severe, and her eyes hidden behind the sunglasses.

“Of course,” she said. “I’m used to seeing her almost every day. This trip was the only way I could think of, to trick myself into thinking she hasn’t been taken from me.”

Therese nodded, feeling miserable, feeling foolish and selfish. Going away like this with Carol was a dream for her, but for Carol it was a kind of nightmare, inescapably connected to Harge’s cruel injunction, and to the threat of losing all custody of Rindy. Yes, the trip was a distraction, from all that. Which made Therese a distraction, too. Whatever they shared on this trip, it would always mean very different things to both of them, and that made Therese feel suddenly lonely.

Then Carol said, “It’s… nice of you. To ask me. I’m afraid I’m not much fun when I start thinking about it.”

Therese looked at her in surprise. “Why should you have to be fun?” she asked. “Who would I be if I knew what had happened and expected you to be fun all the time? It’s a terrible thing, what Mr. Aird has done, and it’s unfair, and it’s not your fault.”

Carol threw her a little glance, her hands on the steering wheel clutching tighter. Therese could see that there was some emotion on her face, but she wasn’t sure what it meant. She thought back to the evening at Carol’s house, and Hargess Aird coming out of the kitchen to look at Therese in angry bafflement. She could still feel the sickly sensation that went through her at his accusing question, _‘How do you know my wife?’_

Therese looked out the window, muttering, “I sort of wonder if it’s my fault, actually.”

“Your fault?” exclaimed Carol. “What on earth—it’s got nothing to do with you!”

“Yes, you said that before,” Therese agreed, feeling again the pang those words had caused her, which had felt at the time like being shut out, like being told she was useless. Now she looked at Carol. “But I think that’s not quite true. When Mr. Aird came to the house—”

“You can call him Harge, he’s not the landed gentry,” muttered Carol, shifting in her seat, great waves of irritation rolling off of her.

Therese was momentarily frozen, the sting of Carol’s anger making her wonder why she had dared to speak up in the first place. What did she think she was to Carol, anyway? What had Carol done, other than kiss her? That didn’t mean Carol trusted her, or meant to confide in her, or needed her opinions. She was a distraction to Carol, and if she wanted to go on being one, she had better stop bringing up unpleasant—

Suddenly, she felt Carol’s hand, touching hers where it lay on the seat. She looked over, surprised, and Carol said with her eyes still on the road, “I’m sorry. I’m being horrible again.” She glanced at Therese, met her eyes for a moment, and squeezed her fingers before letting go. “Tell me what you mean,” she said.

Therese watched her for a moment, searching her profile for some sign that she was still angry, or that she was humoring Therese, or worse, not paying attention at all. But though Carol was watching the road it was obvious her attention was pointed toward Therese, and there was no hostility in her anymore.

Therese said, quietly. “He asked me how I knew you. And when you told him, he seemed to…” She hesitated, shifting in her seat. “He seemed to… suspect something.”

Therese realized she was blushing with embarrassment, but not because her words hinted at the intimacy between her and Carol—rather, because she had no language to describe what she meant, or what Harge might suspect. Touching Carol had felt so right, righter than anything, and yet it was also foreign. Even the two women in the record shop shed no light on it, because their lives were clearly so different from the life of a rich New Jersey housewife. Would Harge have the language, the ability to suspect her desire for Carol? And if he did, did that mean that such things were known to him, known to Carol, common?

“You’re quite the little detective,” Carol said, drawing her out of her thoughts. There was humor in her voice, not irritation. “Are you saying you think Harge filed the injunction because of you and me?”

_‘You and me… you and me…’_

Therese said, “It seemed to upset him very much… my being there.”

“Yes, it did. But you see it always upsets Harge, the thought of me having a life outside of him. And he filed the injunction to punish me, for not going to Florida with him. He gave me an ultimatum, and I thought he was bluffing and called his bluff. Only it turned out he wasn’t bluffing at all. But I’m not bluffing either, Therese, and I won’t roll over without a fight. So please, don’t torture yourself with thinking this is your fault.”

Therese said nothing. She felt surer than ever, that her presence at the house had impacted Harge.

Carol sighed. She said, “I wonder if this is fair to you. Bringing you into the middle of all of this. You certainly haven’t asked for it, have you?” She seemed almost to be talking to herself. “And I still worry that you don’t quite… understand the implications.”

Therese bristled. “There you go again, thinking I’m naïve.”

“Naivety isn’t the worst thing in the world,” Carol retorted. “God, what I’d give, to be naïve of certain things again. But you’re old enough, smart enough, to understand—what the world thinks about it. The contempt and scorn people would show you if they knew.”

Therese thought of Richard, how arrogantly he’d told her, _‘There’s always some reason for it, in the background.’_ And later, when he sneered at her, _‘You’ve got one hell of a crush on this woman. You’re like a schoolgirl.’_

Therese said, “People have shown me contempt all my life. Don’t you know the contempt people feel, toward orphans?”

This appeared to stun Carol, who said nothing for several seconds.

Then Therese asked, “Do you speak from experience?”

Carol tensed. “What do you mean?”

Therese said nothing. Carol knew what she meant.

“I’m tired of driving,” declared Carol restlessly. “What do you say we stop for the night? There’s a town five miles up the road and it must have a motel or something.”


	2. Would You? Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol is a panther. And Therese is her prey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your encouragement and well wishes, you guys! You are lovely. If there's anything to update, I'll let you know. For now, this one was fun to write. Hope you enjoy it.

The next town did have a motel, and as they pulled into the driveway, having spent the past ten minutes in tense silence, Carol shut off the engine and asked, quietly. “Should we get separate rooms?”

The question made Therese’s eyes sting. In a weak voice she said, “If that’s what you prefer.”

But to her surprise, Carol sighed, a frustrated sound, though the frustration seemed to be directed inward. “Of course it’s not—” She paused, breathed in and out, “I—I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, Therese. I’m afraid I’ve made you uncomfortable, and I thought maybe you’d like a little… privacy. To think.”

Therese looked at her, watched her lips tighten into an uncomfortable line, watched her stare out of the parking lot. She seemed tense, watchful. Insecure. It was such an unfamiliar attitude in Carol, that somehow it gave Therese confidence. If Carol _had_ been with other women, perhaps she thought Therese would judge her for it? But Therese felt no judgment. Only curiosity, to know what Carol knew. To understand Carol and so, maybe, understand herself. Therese said with a little of the hope she felt, “I’d be _more_ uncomfortable, staying in a separate room.”

Carol looked at her quickly, with unmistakable relief. “You would?”

Therese glanced about the parking lot. It was dark but there were some streetlamps. Still, she took a risk, sliding her hand across the seat and touching the sleeve of her coat. Carol watched her, eyes brilliant in the dark, and Therese smiled.

“Yes, I would.”

An aching tenderness came into Carol’s expression; it turned Therese's anxiety to joy. Carol made an abortive gesture, as if intending to touch her, then thinking better of it. Carol chuckled, with a rueful shake of her golden head. Therese couldn’t help smirking at the sight of Carol, flustered. 

Twenty minutes later they were in their room. There were two twin beds. Therese supposed reserving a room for two women with one bed would be rather reckless. Still, the thought of sleeping separately deflated her.

Then she heard the door shut and felt Carol coming up behind her, standing close, her perfume a cloud that instantly muddled Therese’s thoughts. Carol’s hands landed tentatively on her hips, and with a sigh of relief Therese leaned back, into the arms that wrapped around her. The past hour had seemed fraught, full of confused feelings and uncertainty, from both of them. But now Carol was touching her, nudging her nose against the side of her head, holding her in her arms, and it was both the most exciting and the most peaceful thing she’d ever felt.

“I thought I ruined it,” whispered Therese.

Carol paused, then resumed the gentle, exploratory nuzzling. “I thought _I_ had.”

Therese tipped her head to the side, letting Carol’s lips trail down the side of her neck. She shivered.

“You don’t have to tell me about your past,” she said, a little breathlessly. “You don’t have to tell me if there were… others.”

Carol admitted in a droll tone, “I’ve never started a romance by talking about its predecessors.”

_‘A romance...’_

“But,” she continued, “you did say you wanted to ask me things. And I did tell you to do it. It’s hypocritical of me, to put you off. So if you want to know—”

Therese turned in her arms, reaching for her face and rising up on the tips of her toes. It was exactly like their first kiss in Therese’s kitchen, only this time, Carol did not have to be told to kiss her back. Carol kissed her at once, deeply, running her hands over her waist and hips and back. Carol was still wearing her coat, which made all of her bigger, and Therese had a vision then of being laid out under Carol, covered by her, surrounded and subsumed. The thought was so delicious that Therese pressed closer, licking into Carol’s mouth, and to her startled delight Carol moaned. Carol shivered. Carol became, suddenly, urgent, reaching for the hem of her sweater and sliding underneath. The touch of Carol’s fingers on her bare skin was like a shock, utterly exquisite, but also a little jarring. Therese landed back on her heels again, breaking the kiss.

“I—I—”

Carol looked at her with wide, anxious eyes. “I’m sorry. Should I not—are you—are you all right?”

Therese nearly laughed at the panic in her expression. She took Carol’s hands in hers. She smiled with all the happiness she felt and watched Carol’s cautious smile.

“Yes, I’m—I’m very all right. I just—can we… can we wait a moment?”

After a heavy pause, Carol blinked at her. And then narrowed her eyes. “Is this payback?” she asked dryly.

Therese laughed, tangling her fingers with Carol’s, happy when they tangled back. “No! No, it’s not payback. I just—I’d really like to shower.”

The words transformed Carol’s expression; sparked a glitter in her eyes that was almost predatory.

“Can I come?” she asked.

Therese’s eyes widened, her jaw dropped, she was just about to stammer out some kind of reply when Carol’s rich, throaty chuckle interrupted her. And then Carol was stepping away, giving her space. “It’s all right, Dearest. You go ahead. I’m just going to have a drink, all right?”

“All right,” Therese whispered. She wished she could turn back time ten seconds, and instead of gawping like a fool, say, _‘Yes, yes, of course, yes!’_

But perhaps it was better this way. In the solitude of the bathroom, with the water running, Therese took off her clothes and looked down at herself. Her body was so different from Carol’s. Would Carol like that, about her? Would Carol like _her_? This was the first time Therese had ever cared about such a thing. When Richard started coming around, she found herself utterly indifferent to the evidence that he found her attractive. If anything, it embarrassed her. The first time she had felt his erection, she was mortified, even though he seemed to think she would be flattered. She was not flattered, and thought maybe something was wrong with her, because she didn’t care about his desire.

With Carol… she wanted, desperately, to be beautiful to Carol, to be alluring, to be desirable. When she got into the shower and began to wash, she lifted the little bar of soap to her nose. It smelled vaguely floral. Would Carol like that smell? It was no where near as fine as the smell of Carol’s perfume, so maybe it would disappoint her? Then it occurred to Therese that while she might long to smell of nothing but Carol’s smell, it would probably be odd for Carol to want Therese to smell like her. So, then, what did Carol want her to smell like? Feel like? Taste like?

Therese shuddered and finished washing. She had left her hair, but it was still damp at the ends. She looked in the mirror. Her skin was slightly flushed from the heat of the water—and the heat of her thoughts. Therese put on her pajamas. She went and stood in front of the bathroom door, breathing in slowly and letting it out, in the hopes it would give her some calm. Then, she opened the door.

Carol sat on the nearest bed, legs crossed, indolent. She had kicked off her shoes and taken off her coat and cardigan, leaving her in her fine wool skirt and short-sleeved sweater, her arms exposed up to her biceps. She was drinking one of the beers from the hamper and when Therese appeared, she stretched out to set it on the bedside table. Therese found her eyes drawn to the crook of her elbow, which she had never seen before, and where the veins ran blue. Then Carol crossed both wrists over her knee, her eyes landing on Therese with an appraising focus that reminded Therese, once again, of a panther.

“How was it, Dear?” she asked.

Therese swallowed, said, “Fine. Did you want to—?”

“No, no,” Carol shook her head, and then ran her fingers through her hair, eyes flitting all over Therese. “I think we’ve had enough of waiting, haven’t we? Come here.”

For a moment, Therese froze, her eyes wide, her heart pounding. Carol just looked at her, patient, with a hint of challenge in her eyes, as if to say, _‘You said you weren’t naïve.’_

Determined, Therese moved slowly toward her, almost cautiously, like a small animal waiting for the panther to strike. Carol uncrossed her legs and sat at the edge of the bed, and when Therese was close enough, she touched her, just the lightest touch to her outer thigh, coaxing her to stand between her knees. For the first time ever, Therese looked down, into Carol’s mist-gray eyes. Carol’s hands cupped her gently, behind the knees, and Therese thought for a moment they would buckle.

“Is this all right?” Carol murmured.

Therese swallowed. Said, “Yes…”

Carol’s hands slid upwards, to the backs of her thighs. Therese made a quiet sound, and her own hands landed on Carol’s shoulders, needing something to brace her. Carol continued gazing up at her, a little smile at the corner of her mouth. Her hands slid higher, so that they were just underneath her buttocks, and squeezed. Therese’s lips parted; her breath hitched. She felt a kind of dazed sensation, not unlike the buzz she got from red wine.

Carol said, “You know, I did think I might tell you one thing. About my… past experience.” 

Therese blinked rapidly, confusedly, saying, “What?”

One of Carol’s hands came around, toying with the bottom button of Therese’s sleep shirt. Therese saw the pink polish on her nails, which might as well have been the gleaming, elegant claws of the panther, loosening the button from its eyelet.

“Yes, I thought I might tell you about the first time.”

Again, Therese found herself blinking like a fool, as if her eyes no longer knew what eyes did, as if her whole body no longer knew what bodies did, beyond let themselves be touched, forever, by Carol.

“O-Oh,” she stammered.

“Yes. I was twenty four. A little older than you. Married, but before Rindy. I was in Paris with Harge. Part of a rather elaborate business trip soon after the war, which meant I hardly saw him except as he was coming or going. And she,” Carol loosened another button, “was the wife of a business associate.”

Carol’s other hand, still cupping the back of her thigh, squeezed again, and there seemed to be a question in it. A, _‘Should I stop?’_ A, _‘Can I keep going?’_ Therese, with her hands on Carol’s shoulders, with her eyes locked on Carol’s eyes, squeezed back. _‘Don’t stop.’_ The glitter in Carol’s eyes intensified, and then she looked down, at the buttons under her fingers.

“She was older than me,” Carol murmured, and loosened a third. “Perhaps… twenty seven? A Brazilian, actually—though her husband was French. She saw how neglected I was, by Harge, and took me under her wing. Oh, we became fast friends. I still think I learned to dress from her. She was quite gorgeous, quite… _au courant_.”

Carol loosened a fourth button of Therese’s plain and girlish polka dot pajamas, and Therese imagined the beautiful, elegant Brazilian woman, and wondered what Carol could possibly see in—

“She had a figure like yours,” Carol said, startling her back from her thoughts. “Small, and slim, like you are, Dearest. A different complexion, of course, but with hair just as dark as yours, and eyes just as big, though hers were brown. I never saw any woman in the world with eyes as beautiful as yours, Therese.”

A fifth button. There were only two left. The second to last was between Therese’s breasts, and already Therese could feel the cool air on her exposed stomach, and Carol’s breath, warm, ghosting over her, sending shivers that found her nipples and turned them to aching points.

Therese asked in a voice that was embarrassingly soft, “What… what happened?”

Carol leaned forward. She kissed the exposed strip of Therese’s skin, just above her belly button. Therese shuddered. Carol finished off the last two buttons but did not remove the shirt. She dragged her nails down the center of Therese’s chest, found the waistband of her pajama bottoms, slipping just the tips of her fingers underneath.

“We spent our days together,” Carol murmured, kissing her hipbone. “Walked all over the city. Talked about our upbringings. Talked about love. Talked about nothing at all. It was marvelous. Then, at the end of the week, her husband wanted to take Harge hunting. She offered to host me while the men went out to the country. It was just one night. Just the two of us, in her palatial apartment overlooking the Seine. She even gave the servants the night off.” Carol chuckled throatily, “I think, now, she had her designs, and was clever enough to arrange it like that.” 

Carol tugged down on the waistband, just to the edge of Therese’s pubic hair. She mouthed at the tender flesh between Therese’s thigh and belly, and pulled the pajamas down in the back, exposing the top of her bottom, grabbing it with possessive hunger. Therese arched, whined, tangled her fingers in Carol’s hair.

Therese gasped, “Then what happened?”

Carol said, “She came to my room. I was already in my pajamas, and I was a little embarrassed. She made me nervous, actually. Much as I enjoyed her, thought about her, was… _unconsciously_ attracted to her—she made me nervous.”

 _‘I know the feeling,’_ thought Therese.

“I thought she had just come to say goodnight. But she put her hands in my hair, like you’re doing.” Therese’s fingers tightened on instinct. Carol groaned, “And she kissed me.” 

Then, like the panther striking, Carol reached up to cup the back of Therese’s neck and drew her down, to her lips, to her mouth, sliding instantly, possessively inside. Kissing her like a monsoon, kissing her deep and wet and filthy, moaning into her mouth. Therese moaned back, kissed her back, alight with the strangeness of bending down to Carol’s kiss. Alight with the sensation of Carol’s free hand, tugging impatiently at the waistband of her pants. This time, Therese helped, and soon the pajamas were dropping around her ankles, but Carol kept kissing her, ferocious. Therese shook off the unbuttoned pajama shirt, so that she was naked between Carol’s knees, naked, and covered in gooseflesh, and panting with need.

Carol broke away with a gasp, looked at her for the first time, running her eyes all over her and running her hands all over her.

“God,” she growled. “God, you are…”

She didn’t finish. She kissed between Therese’s breasts, and Therese’s head tipped back, her eyes closing.

“What—what happened next?” she asked, breathless. She thought of Carol, younger, inexperienced, just as she was. She thought of the woman kissing Carol, waking Carol’s passion, waking her knowledge of this new and incredible thing. Taking off Carol’s clothes. Touching Carol’s skin. And these images, rather than making her jealous, speared her with an almost feral desire for more.

But Carol, nuzzling the side of her breast, chuckled in a rich, spellbinding way.

“Oh, no,” she murmured. “I can’t tell you that.”

Therese’s eyes blinked open. She looked down at the sight of Carol’s hand, rising to cup her breast.

“Why not?” she whispered, desperate to hear the rest.

Then Carol looked up at her. Her lips were sinfully curved, her eyes full of smoke. “Because I can’t possibly talk about her anymore… with you in front of me.”

Carol slid an arm around her waist, and then, with a smoothness that beggared belief, Therese found herself being tugged forward, rolled onto the bed, onto her back, and Carol climbing over her. Carol, still fully clothed. Carol, devouring her mouth. Carol, running a hand from her throat, down her ribs, to her thigh, and hooking it over her own hip. Therese gasped, her pelvis tipping forward, into the pressure of Carol’s body. She whimpered, the sensation rich and intoxicating.

Carol said, “I’ll tell you just one more thing, Dearest.” She gently nudged Therese’s other thigh, coaxing her to spread her legs. She trailed her hand up from Therese’s knee, toward the aching center of her body.

“Carol,” Therese whimpered, hyper aware of the sticky heat between her legs.

Carol went on, as if incognizant of her trembling, her need, her desperation. “When she touched me that night, I thought I had never felt anything as good. But I knew it would only be once. That I wouldn’t want it again, afterwards. And that’s how it has always been, you see? Once, and never again. Until you.”

Her fingers found their mark, sliding with tenderness through Therese’s desire. Therese fluttered, driving her hips toward those fingers. Carol kissed her again, open-mouthed, seeming to want to swallow the sounds that came out of her, which were breathless, helpless, needy. 

“When we met,” she said against her mouth, fingers swirling in delicate circles. “I thought I’d never see you again. I thought to myself as I was going, _‘My, wouldn’t it be nice to touch that girl? Once?’_ And then, later, when we had lunch at Scotty’s, and everything seemed more possible, I thought, _‘Yes, let’s see where this leads. How I’d love to feel her skin against mine.’_ But I told myself, sternly. _‘Just once.’_ ” Carol’s fingers sought the tight entrance of her body, where all her wetness felt like an ocean, like a tide, desperate to pull Carol in. And Carol’s words, circling her head, searing through her skin, made the tides stronger and stronger. Carol said, “By the time you came to my house, I was telling myself, _‘No. You mustn’t dare. How could once be enough? Best not to tempt it.’_ But I did tempt it, didn’t I, Darling? When I touched your shoulders? God, if Harge hadn’t come, who knows what I would have done to you?”

“Please,” Therese said. She was trembling all over, practically sobbing, her eyes heavy as she forced them to open, needing to see Carol’s face. “Please, please—touch me.”

Instantly, Carol did. She slid her fingers, two of them, deep inside, and Therese thrashed, her eyes rolling back, her back arching off the bed. Suddenly Carol’s mouth was covering one of her nipples, sucking the hard peak as her fingers began to stroke, in and out, in and out, deep and good and— _‘God! Let it be more than once!’_

“Jesus Christ,” Carol muttered, and for the first time the coolness of her fractured, replaced by animal ferocity and lust. “Fuck… Why do you think I had to take you away with me? It could never be once. Not with you. You perfect thing. That’s right, good girl, you can move.” Therese did, rocking her hips, watching the fire in Carol’s eyes. “Yes,” Carol urged her. “Move, like that. Sweetheart, you’re doing so well. Do you have any idea how good you feel?”

Therese shut her eyes, shook her head, didn’t know if she was blushing or simply burning up with need. Then something changed and she felt Carol’s thumb, skimming across the hard point of her clitoris. She shouted. Carol put a hand over her mouth. For an instant Therese thought she’d made a mistake, until she found Carol grinning down at her with feline delight.

“Yes,” Carol growled. “Make all the noise you want to, Darling. God, if we had more privacy, I’d let you scream the house down.” 

Therese shook, arched, God it felt so good—Carol’s fingers felt so good. Her mouth on her throat, on her chest, on her breasts felt _so good_. Therese grabbed at her hair, anchoring herself as the intensity built. She had felt this pleasure so few times in her life, had given herself this pleasure so few times, and Carol’s touch, Carol’s mouth, was better than anything she could ever do to herself. It consumed her. Made her lightheaded and shivery.

“Is it good, Sweetheart?” Carol asked her. Therese nodded violently, planting one foot on the bed so she had more leverage to thrust her hips forward. Carol purred her approval, “Do you like what I’m doing to you?” Another frantic nod. “I like it, too. You have no idea how much. If you could feel me now, touch me like I’m touching you, oh, you’d drown in me, Darling.”

The image alone nearly made her come, made her ravenous for the thing Carol described. Therese grabbed the hand that was covering her mouth. She sucked Carol’s fingers between her lips, heard Carol’s raspy groan and felt the fingers between her legs hooking against a spot that was so sensitive, her jaw went slack. Carol’s wet fingers slipped out, and then she covered her mouth again, more firmly than before. Therese felt herself unraveling, drawn deeper and deeper into the maelstrom of pleasure Carol was creating. She felt almost that she was losing control of her body, her limbs twitching, her fingers trembling, her chest pounding with the force of her heartbeat. _So close so close so close._

“That’s it,” Carol urged her. “That’s it.”

Her thumb trapped her clit, rubbing hard, and the peak grabbed Therese with a sudden piercing ecstasy. Grabbed her and flung her into pleasure, into clenching release, into helpless spasms that wracked her entire body. The hand over her mouth, that might have felt constraining, instead felt like permission. Permission to cry out, to sob, to wail and whimper and call Carol’s name. Oh God, it was heaven, it was perfect, it was so much, too much, too good, and just when she thought she would tip the scale from pleasure to pain—Carol’s fingers stopped, holding tight but not moving, and her thumb on her clit lifted, and in relief Therese rode the last consuming shivers, and collapsed boneless into the mattress.

She couldn’t open her eyes. She couldn’t feel her feet. She was trembling so hard it almost frightened her, except that Carol’s weight along the length of her body was the safety and comfort that she needed. Carol voice, murmuring praise, was enough to bring her, slowly, back to earth. But she kept her eyes closed. Focused on breathing deeply, in and out. Then a sweet sleepiness came over her, the violence of her climax giving way to sated relaxation. Several minutes might have passed, as she floated in the endorphin high of Carol’s touch, Carol’s nearness. She felt Carol’s hand that had covered her mouth now dragging slowly, up and down her body. Not to tantalize, but to soothe.

At last, unprepared for the hoarseness of her own voice, Therese asked, “What was her name?”

There were a few seconds of silence. Therese didn’t mind. She lay with her eyes closed and a little smile at the corner of her mouth.

Then Carol said, “Fernanda.”

Therese tried it out, murmuring slowly, “ _Fernanda_ … that’s a beautiful name.”

In answer, Carol said, “Therese…” drawing out the final syllables in a way that made Therese’s name sound foreign and erotic. Therese opened her eyes and met Carol’s at once. Carol was smirking at her. She said, “No name tastes as good as yours.”

Therese blushed, which seemed to delight Carol. Carol, who she realized in consternation, was still fully clothed. Therese’s brow furrowed; she was just about to demand a resolution, when suddenly Carol rolled on top of her, covering her completely, grinning rakishly.

“Speaking of tasting good,” she said. 

And while Therese watched in awe and instant, rekindling desire, Carol winked at her, and began crawling down the bed.


	3. Wait (Part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wonders sometimes if it would have been better if she didn’t wake up in the Drake Hotel that morning Carol left. Maybe, for all the violence of such a separation, it would have been easier. More definite. She would be able to move on. It would hurt more. Yes, she knows it would hurt more, a devastating injury. But perhaps she would recover faster, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to "Wait" which first appeared in my series Alterations. Before reading this, I encourage you to read Part I, which you can find here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/27110296/chapters/67185937
> 
> There will be a Part III

She’s been back from New York for almost two weeks when one of the other girls in her building knocks on the door and tells her there’s a telephone call for her—a woman named Abby. Therese practically runs down the stairs, snatching the receiver off the top of the box and cradling it to her ear.

“Abby? Have you talked to her? Is she all right?”

Abby releases a short, caustic laugh. “Fine way to say hello.”

Therese forces herself to take a deep breath, to let it out. “I’m sorry. I—hello. I mean, how are you—”

“Oh stop,” the older woman says, exasperated. “You know, you two deserve each other. You’re as much a wreck as she is.”

Therese’s heart thumps, one part consuming worry for Carol, the other part—filled with hope, that perhaps Carol misses her just as much as—

“Yes, I’ve talked to her,” Abby goes on, in the brusque, no nonsense tone that Therese grew quite familiar with, on their somber drive back from Chicago.

Therese swallows convulsively. “Is she… is she all right?”

A pause. A sigh.

“Hard to say. She’s doing a bit of the brave face, if you ask me. I gather Harge has a lot of demands, and they’re still negotiating. She called me from a hotel phone. We agree it’s not quite smart to see each other yet. The bastard may still have a detective watching her, for all we know.”

The words make hot tears gather in Therese’s eyes, tears of fury. She wishes her tears were made of metal. She wishes she could forge them into swords, and stand on Carol’s doorstep and defend her from anyone who dared—

“Has she seen Rindy?”

“No,” says Abby, with cold bitterness, and Therese thinks that if Abby could turn her bitterness into an axe, if they could defend Carol together, no man in the world would ever hurt her again. “No, Harge is keeping that card close. And he still hasn’t told her what he has.”

Nausea rises up in Therese’s throat. She knows what he has. The tapes. That night. That gorgeous, perfect night, that should have been theirs alone, forever—he’s got it on tape. Like a pornographer. Therese tastes bile and chokes it down. Their only hope is that Tommy Tucker’s recording device was not as sophisticated as it looked. That maybe, somehow, their whispering conversation, their soft and aching sounds, are too faint to be damning.

“When will she know more?” Therese asks.

“She said she’d call me again on Thursday. She hopes she’ll have got something out of him by then.”

Therese nods, clutching the phone even closer. Thursday is five days away. It’s been seventeen days since she saw Carol. Not knowing is torture, but she promised. She will wait.

“Will you let me know?” asks Therese, quietly, aware of a rawness in her voice, aware that one of her hot and furious tears has escaped and leaked down, to the corner of her mouth, bitter and salty.

Abby promises that she will, and before hanging up, she tells her, “Don’t just mope around the house, all right? Get out. See your friends. Get a job. I’ve quite enough to do, worrying about her. I don’t want to worry about you, too.”

It’s not until several minutes later, after the phone call is over and Therese is back in her apartment, that she realizes the incredible kindness and generosity of Abby’s words.

<><><>

She tries to take Abby’s advice, to go about her life, to take care of herself. She ends things definitively with Richard. She’s as kind to him as she can stand, but he’s sulky and cold, makes a snide remark about how rough she looks. “Had your heart broken?” he demands. “I told you it would happen.”

And then he’s walking away. Therese wonders what she ever saw in him.

She knows she ought to see people, call Dannie, meet up with friends. She can’t bring herself to do it. The thought of other faces, other voices, of anyone who isn’t Carol, makes her feel ill.

It’s been almost four weeks since she got back from Chicago. Abby’s second phone call, last Thursday, brought little in the way of hope.

“A psychotherapist,” she had snarled. “He’s making her see a psychotherapist, that fucking…”

She’d been too angry to go on. And Therese, standing near her landlady’s door, couldn’t ask the questions she wanted to ask. Could hardly speak at all, too shell-shocked and despairing. The call was a short one. Abby asked her at the end if she had a job yet.

“No,” she answered. What did a job matter, right now?

“Keep looking,” Abby told her, as if a job were some kind of talisman that could assure her Therese was doing all right. Which she wasn’t.

Still, Therese puts in applications at several stores, including the record shop where she bought _Easy Living_. She suspects she’s not a very impressive applicant, somber as a funeral goer. Everything feels muted and colorless, and that includes her. 

She buys a second copy of the record, even though she knows it will just make her cry. That night, she plays it while she’s in her dark room—a space she hasn’t been able to enter since she got back, too afraid of the grief memory will cause her. Now, she hears Billie Holiday’s unmatchable voice filtering through the door as she develops her pictures under the red light. Carol appears before her, over and over again: in the diner where they had tomato soup. In the McKinley Motel where Therese first felt the warmth of her neck. In the Packard. In the Drake. In little towns and open roads.

The record is just coming to its end when she turns another photograph over in the pan of chemicals—and nearly chokes. It’s Carol, lying naked in bed. Carol, asleep. She’s on her back, which was unusual. Carol always slept on her stomach, or curled on her side, but not this time. Her hair fanned out on the pillow. Her hand lay on the bed beside her face, and her face was turned toward her hand, and her profile was exquisite. Her eyelashes long. Her mouth soft and swollen from their kissing.

It was in Waterloo. They’d fallen asleep after hours of making love, touching, kissing, whispering confessions, but never the one that mattered most: _I love you. I love you._

Therese remembers waking up, rising to use the restroom. When she came back, Carol was spread out on her back, taking up nearly the entire twin mattress. There was a streetlamp just outside their window, and, filtered through the curtain, it spilled buttery light over Carol’s supine body. Too much temptation to resist. Therese found her camera, rolled the film, and took a single photograph. Moments later, she was sliding back into bed, crawling into Carol’s arms, which immediately reached for her, even in sleep. And with her nose pressed to the warmth of Carol’s throat, breathing in the smell that was not just Carol but both of them, Therese, too, fell asleep.

<><><>

She makes the mistake of telling Dannie she can’t meet up with him because she’s painting her apartment. He informs her that he’ll help. Irritably, she goes out to buy paint.

Dannie shows up early on a Saturday morning and doesn’t talk much. But then he goes to get a beer and sees the photographs of Carol laid out over the table. Therese curses herself for leaving them out, and quickly hides them away in a box. Dannie tells her about a clerk’s job at _The Times_ , tells her she should put together a portfolio. Therese doesn’t answer, thoughts consumed with Carol asking her, _‘Is that what you want to be? A photographer?’_

Her bewitching smile. Her curious eyes.

Dannie says, “This woman… You went away with her, right?”

A low sigh. A deceptively casual, “Yeah.”

He pauses, then asks, “What happened?”

What happened? God, what _did_ happen? What _is_ happening? She has no idea, no language for the riot of hope and grief and longing that beats forever in her breast. None of which she can tell Dannie.

“Oh, nothing, I—it’s hard to really…”

She trails off. Dannie says, “Is this because I tried to kiss you that day?” She looks at him in surprise. “Because if it is, don’t even think about that, you don’t have to be afraid of…”

He trails off. She’s still looking at him. She nearly says, ‘I’m not afraid.’ But she can’t. Because she is afraid. She’s so afraid, that after everything… it won’t matter. Dannie looks at her, and his expression is urgent, but also gentle, in a way that Richard was never gentle. In a way, really, that no man has ever been gentle, when looking at her. Therese feels a pressure behind her eyes, a tightness in her throat. If things were different, if things were just a little different, who knows how she would respond to this completely unexpected gesture of generosity and respect and acceptance? With anger? With dismissal? With tears?

She tells him everything. 

<><><>

Two weeks pass, with no word from Abby or Carol. Therese’s savings are starting to dry up. She knows she needs to find a job, but instead she sleeps late. Goes to bed early. Keeps avoiding her friends.

It’s mid-February and the streets are full of snow and slush. Her will finally cracks. She goes down to the phone on the first floor and calls Carol.

Carol answers. But Carol doesn’t speak. She knows it’s her on the line; she can hear her breathing.

“Hello?” she says, voice soft and weak. “Carol?”

Her answer is silence, long, pregnant. And then, the line disconnects.

Therese stands there with the receiver against her ear for long moments, frozen. A slow creeping horror sneaks up from the soles of her feet, into her chest, up her throat, before lodging in her head with the weight of an anvil. She feels suddenly dizzy, disoriented.

She thinks of Carol in the hotel room in Chicago, in the early hours, when Therese woke to find her executing an escape. The betrayal Therese felt, in that moment. The anger. But also—the refusal. Yes, she refused. She refused to let Carol sneak away. To—what had she said? _Release her._ She didn’t want to be released. It felt so much like the orphanage, when the nuns sent them to their rooms, put them out of sight, little inconveniences, not to be tolerated. How could Carol treat her like that? How could Carol run away from her, after everything they had shared?

And so, she did not let her run away. She made her choose. _Ask me to wait. Or admit you don’t want me. Ask me to wait, or have the courage to say goodbye._

And Carol said, “Wait.”

But Carol also said, “It could be months.” And Carol said. “It could be never.”

_Never never never._

What is this moment, if not an assertion of never? 

<><><>

The next evening, she gets a call from Abby, asking her to come out for a drink. She almost says no, but in the end, she’s weak. Weak, and desperate, and helpless. They meet up at a bar near Therese’s apartment, no doubt very much out of Abby’s way. This concession strikes Therese as a bad sign.

“So,” Abby says, as soon as Therese arrives. Abby is already seated in the booth, smoking, with a martini in front of her.

“So,” Therese repeats.

Abby smiles in a dry, distracted way, not unlike how Carol sometimes smiles. Perhaps they learned this way of smiling from each other? They are thick as thieves after all. No doubt they’ve talked endlessly this past month, and never spared a thought for what they’re keeping from Therese. For what Therese has been feeling or fearing. But then Therese made her phone call, so now Carol and Abby are taking action. It’s a nauseating thought.

Therese says coldly, “She’s doing it again, isn’t she?”

“Doing what?”

“She’s brought you in to do her dirty work.”

Abby looks annoyed. She takes a drag of her cigarette, ashing it in the tray. A waiter comes and Therese orders a martini with an olive. It seems fitting. Carol’s drink.

Abby says, “Carol didn’t send me here, Therese.”

“No?”

“No. Believe it or not, I’m not her errand girl.”

Cowed, Therese takes out one of her own cigarettes, lights it, smokes with her eyes averted.

Abby says, “She told me that you called last night. Which was stupid, by the way.”

Therese flushes, and scowls. “I haven’t heard anything from either of you in almost—”

“What do you think ‘wait’ means?” Abby snaps. “It means wait! Do you think it’s what she wants? Do you think any of this is what she wants? Do you think it helps for you to call her and remind her of what she’s lost? Especially when there’s nothing she can do about it? If you knew what Harge is putting her through, Therese, you’d—you’d leave her in peace.”

For a moment Therese just sits there, stunned. She swallows, her throat dry. She doesn’t know if she’s furious at herself or furious at Abby—or furious at Carol. It is very strange to sense that one is behaving badly and being treated badly at the same time.

“Tell me,” she says at last. “Tell me what Harge is putting her through. Please, I just… not knowing... It’s torture, Abby. Please, just tell me.”

Some of Abby’s ire dissolves, but her expression remains grim, and reluctant. She swallows off the last of her martini just as Therese’s arrives. This time, Abby orders a bourbon. She stubs out her cigarette and lights a new one, regarding Therese through the plume of smoke.

“Harge’s lawyer sent a transcript of the tapes to Carol’s lawyer. Thanks to modern technology, it appears that detective got everything.” Therese pales. Abby goes on, “Fred—that’s Carol’s lawyer—thinks that if the tapes show up in court, Carol may never see Rindy again. No judge will give custody to a deviant. So, he’s advised her to do whatever Harge asks.”

Therese swallows, her throat tight, her heart racing.

“What does Harge want?”

 _‘To call off the divorce?’_ Therese wonders. _‘Would he go that far?_ The thought is horrifying.

“Well, you already know about the psychotherapist,” Abby says, with clear contempt. “Harge claims he won’t even consider letting her have visitation unless he gets assurances that she has—what was the phrase? _Recovered_. Yes, they’re treating her like a mental patient. We’re lucky she hasn’t been committed. She has appointments five days a week, for an hour. Apparently, there was talk of electroshock therapy in the beginning, but she managed to get out of that.”

Therese’s body goes cold, her head swims. 

Abby says, “Still, the sessions—they’re not fun. Sounds to me like her doctor is a real pervert. And of course he tells Harge everything. Now Harge has lot of ideas about her needing to be around decent people. That’s code for not me, by the way. So, she’s over at his parents’ house at least twice a week. She’s seen Rindy there, once. It was only for an hour, and supervised, of course—his whole family watching her.”

Abby finally pauses to draw breath, to drag viciously on her cigarette, to accept the brandy from the waiter. Therese watches her in silence, too abject to speak.

Abby takes a swallow, flicks her cigarette, and continues, “The custody hearing isn’t until April, so she’s got a few weeks to genuflect and tell the doctor what he wants to hear. Fred thinks that if she just goes along with all of it, at the end, Harge might be reasonable and agree to joint custody again. He says if everything goes wrong, he can petition to have the tapes thrown out. You know. Given how they were obtained. But no fucking judge is going to pass on the chance to—”

Suddenly, she breaks off, looking at Therese. Her eyes widen slightly, some of the angry color in her cheeks replaced by an unexpected pallor. At first Therese doesn’t know what she’s looking at. Then she feels the tears that are dripping down her own face. She hadn’t even realized she was crying. Mortified, she starts rubbing them away.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, voice trembling. She barely controls the sob rising up in her throat. “I’m all right,” she says. “Go on.”

Abby remains silent. After a few minutes Therese has herself under control and looks up to find the older woman looking at her with an expression that somehow marries empathy and sternness.

“Chin up, kid,” she says. “We’re no good to her if we’re blubbering.”

Therese says, “I’m no good to her either way. I can’t… help her. I can’t give her anything. At least you can talk to her. I’m… I’m useless.”

Abby retorts, “You’re out in the world. That’s what you give to her. Hope.”

Therese swallows down her tears. “So she… she hasn’t changed her mind? She still wants me to wait?”

Abby sighs. She takes another sip or her bourbon and another drag on her cigarette, staring down at the table for long moments. When she looks up again, her eyes are calm but serious.

“Let’s put Carol aside for the moment. What do _you_ want?”

Therese balks at the question. She opens her mouth and closes it. Isn’t it obvious what she wants?

Abby rolls her eyes. “Yes, I know, you want Carol. And she wants you. She’s in love with you. You’re in the love with her.” Therese’s eyes widen. Of course she loves Carol. But does Carol really love her? Abby, seeing the expression on her face, rolls her eyes again. “Why you two nitwits never said it to each other when you had the chance is beyond me, but I’m just the peanut gallery in this production. Nevertheless, I’m older than you and somehow, absurdly, you’ve… ended up under my wing. So you’re going to listen to me now.”

She pauses, eyes locked on Therese, waiting for an acknowledgment. Therese rubs away the last of her tears and nods. Abby nods back. Abby says, “Love is not the moment when you see someone for the first time and think your heart’s going to explode. Love is not all the little looks and the flirting and the wondering if it’ll happen or not. Love is not sex, Therese. Love is grit. It’s courage. It’s… resilience. And it’s doing something hard, something you hate, because you know it’s what the other person needs.”

Therese’s body locks up, anticipating what’s next.

Abby says, “Carol loves you. Which means she wants what’s best for you. And you sitting around hoping that she’ll come back, hoping that somehow, against all the odds, you can be together again—well, is that what’s best for _you_ , Therese? You’re young. Your whole life is ahead of you. Don’t put everything on hold when—”

“Is this coming from you, or from Carol?” interrupts Therese.

“It’s what Carol _would_ say, if she thought you’d listen to her. She’s worried sick about you, and you know, that doesn’t help matters, Therese. She’s afraid you’re wasting your life for her.”

“I’m not!”

“You’ve lost weight,” Abby retorts. “And you hadn’t any to spare. You look like you haven’t slept in days. Your fingernails are dirty. You still don’t have a job, do you? Why?”

“I—I applied to all kinds of places. No one has called me back.”

“Carol says you’re a photographer. What sort of jobs need photographers? Find one of those.”

“It’s not that simp—”

“Are you seeing your friends? No, I don’t count. Are you getting out? Doing things? Living your life? No, I can see that you aren’t. Therese, for God’s sake!” She pauses, blows an angry breath out through her nostrils, and Therese can only sit there, silent and shocked. Then, marshalling her temper, Abby says, “This can’t be what waiting means. Suppose by some miracle she’s able to come back to you? What will she be coming back to? Is this what you want to be for her? Do you think this is what she wants you to be?”

Therese can’t speak, overwhelmed by shame and sorrow and helplessness. As she sits there, frozen, her eyes flood with tears again. She stares at the tabletop. Her cigarette has burned out, and her drink sits unfinished before her. Finally, voice weak and raw, she confesses:

“I miss her, Abby.”

Abby says nothing. Therese hasn’t the courage to look up. Only to say it again, “I… miss her. I miss her all the time. So much.”

Then, to her surprise, Abby leans forward, and lays a hand on top of hers. Therese looks up, startled, to find Abby gazing at her with a combination of compassion, and ferocity.

“I know,” she says, and squeezes her hand. “I know you do. But you’ve got to go on, do you hear me? This wallowing… it won’t do. If you won’t make a change for yourself, please, for the love of God—do it for Carol. I can’t lie to her about you; she sees right through me. So give me something I can tell her, something that will give her hope.”

Therese masters her tears. Puts all her strength into straightening her shoulders. She picks up her drink and swallows, the bright, briny flavor a needed shock to her system. When she brandishes her burnt out cigarette, Abby’s hand is there in an instant, lighting it again. Abby nods, her eyes encouraging. After a deep and fortifying breath, Therese takes a drag, and lets it out.

“My friend—my friend Dannie,” she says. “He—he thinks he can get me an interview at _The Times_.”

Abby’s eyes glitter, a kind of furious victory. “Well,” she says. “That’s a start.”

<><><>

_The Times_ editor calls, and Therese gets an interview. A week later, Therese gets a job.

Afterwards she stands for a long time looking at the clothes in her closet, realizing that none of them suit a job like this one. She’s got enough money left to make it through the month of March. Less, if she has to buy herself new clothes. But she should have her first paycheck after two weeks, and that’ll be mid-March. So, if she’s frugal, she can make it.

Dannie proves surprisingly useful about the kinds of clothes women wear at the office. He even comes along with her, standing back with hands in his pockets and giving occasional input on the pieces she selects. When it’s time for her to try things on, he says he’s going to see about a hat. Half an hour later, they meet up again, Therese carrying her packages, him donning a new flat cap that looks handsome on him.

“You do all right?” he asks, sounding only a little awkward.

Therese realizes then that she never had a friend like him before. She nods at his question, says, “Let’s get a beer somewhere.”

That night, for the first time in weeks, she goes back into her darkroom. She has a new roll of film to develop. At first all she can see is the absence of Carol, but slowly, that grief gives way to different feelings. The pictures are good. Not just passable but really… good. It was easy to take pictures of Carol, because in Carol she saw beauty and life and vibrancy, and capturing it was simple as breathing. But these pictures are of strangers: a grocer who helped her last weekend; two women laughing in a shoe shop; a child at the bank. Therese doesn’t know any of them, doesn’t know their names or their histories or what their lives are like, and yet in her pictures, she feels convinced that she has captured them. The essence of who they are. There is a kind of magic in it, and she stands for a long time, thinking of Carol’s advice: _‘Keep what feels right. Throw away the rest.’_

And all these pictures feel right.

<><><>

So goes the month of March. The job is mostly clerk work, filing and taking notes during meetings, but she likes it. The office breathes with excitement, and the people there are smart and tough and interesting. Yes, she does have to field quite a few requests for dates in the first couple of weeks, but eventually all that stops, and she begins to think the people there recognize her as more than a pretty face. They recognize her talent. They recognize her humor. They invite her out to drinks after work, and she goes. On weekends she carries her camera into the world and takes photographs. In the evenings she listens to records and reads and experiments with make-up.

One day on her lunch hour she buys a bottle of coral nail polish. That night, she paints her nails. It’s the same color that Carol always wore. It’s the color Carol wore the day they met, when Therese looked up and saw her gloves, saw her hands, resting on the counter. Her hat, her lipstick, her scarf, were all the same color, brought to an even sharper vibrancy by the blonde fur coat, and the blonde hair, and the arresting gray eyes. Therese wonders sometimes what she felt for Carol first: desire; or simply overpowering admiration. How many times, on their road trip, did she look at her and think, _‘If only I could be so elegant. If only I could be so beautiful. If only I were more like Carol…’_

Now, gazing at the nail polish, she realizes in some surprise that it doesn’t fit. Her new suits that she wears to the office, her new make-up and her new haircut—they fit. They are her. But not this nail polish. Because Therese is not Carol and Therese doesn’t want to be Carol anymore.

She just wants _her_.

So Therese takes off the coral nail polish, replacing it with a clear lacquer that suits her better.

<><><>

Days pass. April comes, still cold, but hinting at spring. The custody hearing may have already happened, for all she knows. She begins to think… that she will never have Carol again. The last time she talked to Abby it was to tell her about the job. But that was weeks ago. And while no news means no change, it also means nothing worse has happened. She’s certain that if Carol had definitively decided to break ties, she would have told her somehow… 

Or maybe not. Maybe this is how it will be. A slow… drifting away. Dissolution. Disappearance. Maybe she’ll hear from Abby once more, maybe she’ll hear from Abby not at all; maybe Carol’s voice will never greet her again. The gray eyes. The regal head. The lips that kissed her in a dingy motel, and made her come alive…

It’s a gradual thing, the acceptance of heartbreak. Because that, ultimately, is what Therese realizes this is. Heartbreak. She wonders sometimes if it would have been better if she didn’t wake up in the Drake Hotel that morning Carol left. Maybe, for all the violence of such a separation, it would have been easier. More definite. She would be able to move on. It would hurt more. Yes, she knows it would hurt more, a devastating injury. But perhaps she would recover faster, too.

So Therese goes to work. She goes out with friends. She takes photographs and develops them in her darkroom and watches her own talent blooming. She lives. She aches. But she lives.

Phil calls to invite her to a party at his place, on Friday. On Wednesday she has lunch with Dannie. He seems a little antsy, a little nervous. He keeps picking up his beer and putting it down and picking it up again, without drinking.

“What gives?” Therese asks finally.

“Well,” he says. “I was just thinking.”

“All right.”

“You’re coming to Phil’s, right?”

She nods. He nods. He toys with the label on his beer bottle, takes a drought and sets it down.

“A friend of mine is gonna be there. I think you might like her.”

Therese blinks owlishly. Her stomach clenches, nausea gripping her and sliding up into the back of her throat. She takes a quick swig of her own beer, hoping to wash it away, but the beer sits heavy as a rock in her gut. She looks away from him, afraid her hands are shaking.

He says, “Look, I didn’t tell her about you, or anything. I just… She’s a good egg. And if you want, I can introduce you at the party.”

Therese says nothing. These past few days, she has thought more and more about what life will be, now that Carol is clearly not coming back. She’s asked herself if love could ever be possible again. Not love like she had with Carol, of course—no, that would be impossible. But love with… someone? One evening she even wondered, dispassionately, _‘What about Dannie?’_ He’s handsome. He’s good to her. They get along and he did kiss her that time—

But no, it could never be Dannie. Another man?

No, she realized. Not another man. It was a harrowing, and exhilarating, realization. Perhaps she could love again, someday, but not a man. She knows herself now. It would have to be a woman.

And now Dannie dangles a woman before her, faceless, nameless, and she wonders, _‘Is it possible?’_ What would Abby say? Abby, who wants her to live her life…

Therese tells him, with false indifference, “You can introduce me to anyone. I don’t mind.”

Dannie, looking satisfied, changes the subject.

And Wednesday goes by. And Thursday goes by. And Friday comes, and all these passing days and hours bring her closer to Phil’s party, and to some girl that Dannie wants her to meet, and each minute is like sand in an hourglass. How much sand is left? In dread she realizes that when the glass is empty, that’s when she’ll know: that what she had with Carol is truly over. No more waiting.

So she finishes her day and heads home to change for the party. Her commute is long. Perhaps she should move? Some place closer to _The Times_? By the time she reaches her building, the steps up to the third floor feel interminable. She takes them slowly, wearily, a lump in her throat that she can’t seem to swallow. Finally, she reaches her floor, and looks up.

Carol is there.


	4. Wait (Part III)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wait is over.

For several moments, they just stare at each other. Therese even wonders, briefly, if she is hallucinating. It can’t be real: Carol, stood before her. Carol in her wooly beige coat, and the blue cap pinned into her golden hair, and her calves strong and defined beneath the gray skirt of her dress. Carol’s wrists exposed. Carol’s throat, bobbing as she swallows. Carol Carol Carol—

Therese has no idea what her own face must look like in this moment, but Carol’s face is a banquet of emotion: the first flash of joy, as they see each other, is quickly followed by a kind of terror. She looks simultaneously desperate and longing, full of hope but also dread. Her mouth trembles; her eyes are wide.

“I—” Carol’s voice! “I—thought about sending you a telegram. I should have, shouldn’t? Showing up like this—I—”

Therese blinks rapidly. She wants to scream at herself to do something—and yet she’s frozen. How many times has she dreamed of a moment like this? Carol, returning to her, at last—to tell her the wait is over. To tell her that it’s not ‘never’ after all. To say, _‘I’m here, I love you, I’ll never leave again—’_

And yet now that it’s happening, she feels a shock of fear. What if she’s got it all wrong? Perhaps Carol is here to end things. To tell her once and for all that they’re over, and she was a fool to call that time, and don’t ever do it again. Therese watches it happen in her mind’s eye. Sees the imperious tip of Carol’s head; hears the words in all their calm and brutal finality; watches her go back down the stairs, careful not to brush against her as she passes; listens to her heels clack on the steps as she moves, further and further and forever—away.

Therese can’t bear it. The thought grips her with nausea, and she starts to feel dizzy. Yes, why _didn’t_ Carol send a telegram? Why do this in person, this cruel thing?

But even as her panic mounts, she sees Carol’s eyes, her beautiful pale eyes, well with tears. And Carol whispers, in a voice weak with her own fear, “Is it too late?”

The words feel like electrocution. Therese breathes in, sharply, sensation and control returning to her limbs. She is about to fling herself forward when—

The apartment door next to hers opens, and out comes her neighbor, Betty. The girl stops at the sight of them, and frowns.

“Hiya, Therese,” she says, looking confused.

It takes all of Therese’s freshly returned control to look away from Carol, to look at Betty, to offer a thin smile and say, “Hi.”

But that’s all she can do. She doesn’t even have the wits, the manners, to introduce Carol. And Carol is not looking at Therese or Betty, but staring at the ground, her face caught in an expression of profound shame. Therese marvels at it—wonders, what is she ashamed of? To be seen, with Therese? Is she afraid that Betty will suspect that they’re… what?

“Well,” says Betty awkwardly, gripping her handbag, “See ya, I guess!”

And then, thank God, she’s going away, going down the stairs, and Therese and Carol are alone again, and Carol, with her eyes on the ground, asks weakly, “Should I go?”

Startled, Therese cries, “No!”

Carol looks up. A single tear slips free, but her face is caught in surprise, in confusion, in—hope?

Therese moves swiftly forward with keys in hand. Carol steps aside, and Therese jams the key in the lock, almost dropping it in her suddenly furious effort to get the door open. When she finally does, she looks sidelong at Carol, who is watching her wide-eyed.

“Please,” Therese whispers, “Please… come inside.”

Carol does. Carol follows her down her narrow hallway, and they end up in the front room. Five feet between them, they stop and face each other, stare at each other. Therese is breathing shallowly, and Carol’s expression is so… desperate, so full of longing. Is it possible? Is any of this possible? Or is this all a lead up to something from which she can’t possibly recover?

“What happened at the hearing?”

Carol blinks, clearly as surprised at the question as Therese is at having spoken it aloud. Then, she gathers herself, saying, “There won’t be a hearing. I made a deal, with Harge. He gets full custody. I get visitation.”

Therese’s stomach clenches in horror. For a moment she’s too stunned even to think, and then— No! No, this isn’t right. This—all these months, this separation, it was so that Carol could have custody! Everything they’ve sacrificed, everything Carol has suffered, was to keep her daughter! How could this have happened? How could it—

“Why?” asks Therese, her voice strained by shock and grief.

But to her surprise, Carol smiles at her, a tremulous, beautiful smile.

“Because I wouldn’t put Rindy through any more of a custody battle. Because I didn’t want her to be another casualty in this fight between me and Harge. And because I… because it was the only way that… I could be free.”

Free.

Does she mean…?

“But,” Therese swallows. “But, Rindy… I thought—”

“I am still Rindy’s mother,” Carol says, steel in her voice, fire in her eyes. “I won’t let Harge keep her from me. But nor will I—nor can I… wait… any longer. To be with you.” 

Therese feels like her body is floating away. Abby was firm with her. Abby told her that to wait must also mean to live, and she has. She has _made_ herself live, with a sometimes rabid determination. She has made herself work, and learn, and grow. Made herself imagine a world without Carol and realized even in her misery that it _was_ possible. That Therese-without-Carol could still find happiness and meaning. But now, as she realizes that Therese- _with_ -Carol is possible, too, the full force of the heartbreak she has endured nearly sweeps her legs out from under her. To have what she wants most of all, after teaching herself to live without it, brings sensations so much more complicated than joy or grief—and for a moment she can hardly breathe.

“Therese?” Carol asks, timidly. Therese looks at her, watches her take a tentative step forward, and then stop. Why does she stop? All Therese wants is for her not to stop, to not be so far away, to touch her— “Darling, please… Please tell me.”

_Darling…_

That single endearment acts on Therese like a light switch. All at once she realizes, startled, how she must look to Carol: wide-eyed, frozen, frightened. And Carol asked, _‘Is it too late?’_ and instead of saying _‘No, never, I love you, come here—’_ Therese is just _staring_ at her, helpless.

“Carol,” she whispers, and tries with all her might to put every ounce of longing and welcome and desire she feels—into that one, beautiful word.

It must work, because s Carol’s eyes widen. Her nostrils flare. And a moment later she is eating up the space between them, and Therese in gasping relief lets herself be seized. They collide like stars, a flash of brightness, and Therese is certain Carol will kiss her but instead—

She _holds_ her. She pulls her into her body, against her chest, gathering her into her arms, her scent, her warmth. Not until this moment does Therese realize—she has never needed anything more in her life, than she needs this. She throws her arms around Carol’s neck, gripping her tight, and pushes her face into her throat, breathing her in in desperate gulps. She feels Carol’s own shuddering breaths, feels the hand that holds her waist and the other that sifts through her hair. Hears her whisper in a voice that is all aching joy, “Therese… Therese… my angel…”

They must stand like that for minutes. It is like water after three and half months of drought. Bread after three and half months of famine. Finally, Therese pulls back, wanting to look at her. Carol holds her face in her hands, staring down into her eyes with such naked love that Therese wonders, in a delirium of happiness, how she ever doubted that Carol would come back to her. Carol swallows, eyes flicking between Therese’s eyes, and her lips. Therese’s stomach flips, knowing what Carol wants—

Somewhere in the building, a door bangs shut. Therese hears the raucous laughter of her neighbors, tromping down the stairs toward their Friday revelries. Her heart starts pounding. She has a cloying sensation of claustrophobia, of verging panic. Her building feels too small, the walls too thin, everyone out there too close, and she can’t bear it.

“Can we—” she swallows hard. “Can we go somewhere?”

Carol looks confused, surprised. Her body is tense, but she still cups Therese’s chin and Therese leans into the caress, and Carol lets out a shuddering sigh.

“I—of course,” she says. “Do you want to get dinner somewhere? Or tea?”

But Therese knows what she wants. “Can we go to your house?”

At that, some of the anxiety and confusion in Carol’s expression banks, replaced by a fierce and arresting… concentration.

She says, “Harge and I are selling the house. I’ve taken an apartment on Madison Avenue. Shall we go there?”

“Yes,” Therese answers, almost indifferent to the words, indifferent to everything except this need she feels—to get away from her apartment. From this site of so much grief and loneliness and waiting waiting waiting. “Yes, let’s go there.”

But Carol looks at her worriedly, stroking her thumb along Therese’s cheek. “Are you sure?”

Therese makes a little aching sound. She doesn’t know how to explain. She shakes her head, afraid she’s going to start crying. At last she ekes out, “This… this apartment. I… I’ve been so… lonely, Carol. I just want to go somewhere else. With you. Please?”

Understanding fills Carol’s eyes, and on its heels, tenderness. “Yes, Dearest, of course. Would you like to—you could pack a bag? Stay the night? Would you like to?”

She sounds so vulnerable asking, but at the words, the suffocating anxiety in Therese’s throat relaxes, and then she is beaming up at her, and sighing in relief, “Yes. Yes, I would.”

<><><>

Carol’s apartment is not nearly so palatial as her house in the country—but it is still four times as big as Therese’s, and quite a bit more stylish. She has a doorman, for one. And the elevator takes them all the way to the 10th floor. In the sitting room, Therese finds boxes everywhere, signs that the move is recent. She also finds the piano, and stands for a moment just looking at it. She pictures herself sitting there, fumbling through the chords of _Easy Living_ ; she pictures Carol, coming up behind her. Her elegant hands placed upon Therese’s shoulders. Therese going still as a startled deer—terrified to be touched, and terrified that the hands will go away.

Therese walks over to the piano, touching a single note, ringing out in the silence.

“It needs to be tuned,” says Carol, apologetically—as if it matters to Therese at all whether the piano is off key.

Therese turns to look at her. She’s standing in the entryway, eyes moving all over her, eating her up, drinking her in. When their eyes meet again, Carol’s smile is soft and adoring.

“You cut your hair.”

Therese’s hand goes self-consciously to the shorter bob. “I—yes.”

“You look very fine.”

A blush, a startled smile. “It… it was for my job. I thought it made me look older.”

“Yes, Abby told me— _The Times_. Darling, you’ve no idea how pleased I am. Look at you, you’ve—” She swallows, and there’s something pained in her expression. “You’ve blossomed.”

Therese frowns. Blossomed? Is that what she’s been doing? But why does Carol look almost… regretful? As if she thinks Therese’s blossoming could only happen because they were apart.

“It’s because of you,” she says.

Carol blinks at her, says, “What?”

“Don’t you know, Carol?” Therese asks her. “You bought me the camera. You believed in my work. Even when you… even after you left, I… had your voice inside me, telling me that I was good. It took me awhile, to start working again—and Abby had to give me a stern talking to—but… whenever I saw something beautiful, whenever I took a picture, I imagined you looking at it. You were the critic in my head, urging me on. I don’t know who I’d be, what I’d have become, if it weren’t for you.”

Carol looks stricken. Therese thinks that maybe the words have upset her, somehow, but then she is moving tentatively across the room, to the piano, and standing before her again. This time, when she takes her in her arms, she does it softly, tenderly, both of them breathing in. Therese wraps her arms around her waist, slides her hand up her back, pressing into the wings of her shoulder blades. Carol’s touch is gentle, one arm across her shoulders, the other at her lower back, and the feeling is so hypnotically good that for a few moments Therese floats away in it. No doors slam noisily in Carol’s apartment building. No neighbors interrupt. No detective lurks in the walls. They are safe.

After a while Carol asks her, “Are you hungry, Dearest? Shall I make us something?”

Therese is about to say no, not wanting to move, but then she realizes with a start that she hasn’t eaten all day. Too nervous about the party (and to think, she could have been there instead of here!). Thinking she’ll be little use to either of them if she faints from hunger, she pulls back, smiling up into Carol’s eyes, which crinkle and smile back.

“Will you show me your kitchen?”

Carol’s lips spread apart with her grin. She says dryly, “I’ll show you whatever you want,” and takes her hand, and leads her out of the room.

The kitchen is large, and has a breakfast bar, which means that Therese can sit and watch as Carol sets to work.

“I’m afraid I haven’t got much in the cupboards yet. Is soup from a can all right? I can make us grilled cheese as well?”

“Anything is fine,” says Therese. 

Carol smiles at her shyly, getting butter and cheese from the ice box. “I promise to really cook for you, soon. Something nice.”

Carol cooks, and Therese watches, and they… talk. If it weren’t so incredibly wonderful it would be baffling. Three and a half months without talking to her, hearing her voice, and now, suddenly, they are talking—about the most ordinary things. The weather and the city and the book Therese is reading. Over tomato soup and grilled cheese, Therese learns that Carol has taken a job at a furniture store, as a buyer. It’s a natural fit, after the years she spent running a store with Abby. She seems to be pleased about it, to want it, to want to break completely from her idle days as a New Jersey housewife. And Therese in turn tells her about _The Times_. The work, the friends, the learning and the growth that she has already seen, in her photographs. Carol listens with shining eyes, her pride so immense that Therese can’t help blushing into her soup.

“My little star,” Carol murmurs, her low voice lighting sparks along Therese’s skin.

Embarrassed, Therese changes the subject, “How long have you been living here?”

Carol has pushed her plate away and now lights a cigarette, dragging on it and blowing the smoke into the air. She shrugs, “Just a few days. I had movers bring everything over last weekend.”

Therese looks around at the large and modern kitchen; looks through the entryway toward the high-ceilinged front room with its baby grand piano. She observes, “It’s big.”

Carol looks a little shy again. “Yes, it… It has three bedrooms. A master, and two others. And one of the others has a… well it has a very large closet, without windows. I’ve got no need of a closet that big, but I did think it would make a—”

She breaks off. Therese breathes in, and stares at her. Carol swallows, eyes averted, and Therese realizes that this time, Carol needs _her_ to talk.

“A darkroom?” she asks. Carol looks at her hopefully. She nods. Therese asks, “Do you want me to move in with you?”

“I—” Carol ashes her cigarette, her hand trembling, and says, “I want whatever you’re willing to give me, Darling. I understand if it’s too soon, but I… I’ve had quite enough of being away from you. I never want to go through that again.”

Carol wants her to move in with her. To move in… here? Into this magnificent building? To leave her crummy little apartment behind for good? Therese feels suddenly small and plain, even with the job at _The Times_. Would she even fit, in a place like this?

Therese stands up, taking their dishes to the sink. With her back turned to Carol she uses the opportunity to gather herself, to breathe in and breathe out. She ends up standing at the sink longer than necessary, and that’s when she feels it—Carol’s body, come to stand behind hers. Carol puts her hands on her shoulders, and Therese leans back, into her touch. Carol nuzzles the side of her head, whispers, “I’m sorry, Darling… is it… was that too much?”

Therese turns in her arms, sees again the vulnerable, longing look in Carol’s eyes.

“Don’t you think we had better get… used to each other, again?” she asks. “Don’t you think we had better take our time?”

Something glitters in Carol eyes, something that says, _‘I don’t want time.’_ But instead she gives a little nod of acquiescence. “Of course, Therese. We can do… we can do whatever you want.”

Therese doesn’t know if it’s what she wants, but she does know, does see, what it costs Carol to offer it. Suddenly she remembers Abby’s words: _‘Love is doing something hard, something you hate, because you know it’s what the other person needs.’_

And it’s this, this concrete evidence of selflessness and love, that has Therese’s eyes traveling down from Carol’s face, to her throat, to her collarbones, to her chest, and murmuring, almost to herself, “What I want…”

Carol’s throat moves with her swallow. Therese reaches for her hands. Tangles their fingers together. Says, “All I’ve wanted… for so long… is to talk to you. To be with you.”

Carol says quietly, “So have I.”

“I thought… I thought maybe it was ‘never.’”

Carol brings one of Therese’s hands up to her face, turns it and kisses her open palm; kisses the inside of her wrist. Murmurs with her eyes closed, “I thought maybe I made you wait too long.”

Therese’s breaths come a little unsteadily, as she watches Carol kiss her there, the sensitive, tender spot. Swallowing, she asks, “Why did you hang up, when I called you?”

To her surprise, Carol chuckles. It’s self-deprecating. Pained. She lowers Therese’s hand and opens her eyes. “To stop myself from saying it.”

“Saying what?”

“‘I love you. Be with me now. Let’s run away.’”

The words send heat through Therese’s limbs, and yet she chuckles, too, staring at the ground. Suddenly all the pain of that moment, of that perceived rejection, lifts from her shoulders. She says, “It’s probably just as well you hung up then.”

Carol fits a finger under her chin, lifting her head so their eyes meet again. Carol’s eyes are curious, amused, “Oh? And why is that?”

“Because I couldn’t have said no,” Therese admits. “I still needed to learn… how to say no.”

Carol’s amusement shifts, turns bright-edged and… sultry. The finger under her chin slides down her throat. Down to the button of her jacket. She worries at it, both of them watching her with bated breath.

“And now?” Carol murmurs, as the button comes free, and Therese’s hands land on her hips, clenching. “Do you know how to say no, now?”

Therese answers by reaching for Carol’s buttons. She moves slowly, cautiously, undoing the bottom one, and the one above that. Carol’s fingers move to do the same, and all their buttons are coming apart, and their breaths are coming faster, and Therese says, “I think so. When I must.”

Carol slips the jacket off her shoulders. It falls at their feet, Carol’s soon to join it. Therese feels as if there are flames licking across her skin. A heavy ache is settling between her legs, born on memories of Carol’s hands, Carol’s mouth, Carol’s touch.

Carol reaches for the hem of her sweater, fingers sliding underneath, touching skin that erupts in gooseflesh. Therese trembles, looking up into her eyes.

“And must you?” Carol asks, her voice so low and sinful that Therese thinks she might faint.

Therese shakes her head, lifts her arms, and the sweater sweeps over her head, tossed aside. Carol’s fingers drag down the center of her chest, to the zipper on her skirt. She lowers it slowly, eyes never leaving hers. Therese is shivering, almost panting, but Carol isn’t any better, lust radiating off her like a heat wave, fingers shaking as they push the skirt down her legs. It pools at her feet, and Therese is stood before her in nothing but panties and bra.

“God,” Carol whispers, gaze sliding all over her, taking in her figure with an expression of starvation, “Damn it,” she adds, and meets her eyes again, “Is this all right? Darling, is this—”

Therese reaches up, cups her face, pulls her close. For a moment they freeze, lips a hairsbreadth apart. Months, since they kissed. Since they touched. Since they made love in the Drake. Therese has a sudden and incongruous flare of anxiety—what if it’s not as good? What if she disappoints Carol? What if it’s been too long?

But Abby said, _‘Love is courage.’_

And so, with all the courage in her heart, Therese whispers, “Carol… kiss me.”

Moaning in gratitude, she does.

And Therese needn’t have worried. Oh God, she needn’t have worried at all! The minute Carol’s lips touch hers, all her uncertainty flees, replaced by the exquisite pleasure of memory marrying the present. Everything is just as she remembers, soft and warm and urgent; and everything is new—Carol, pulling Therese’s half-naked body against her own. Carol, running possessive hands down her back, gripping her waist. Carol’s tongue in her mouth, so much more confident than the first time they kissed, and Therese in an answering confidence moans and sighs and kisses her back.

Carol moves her away from the kitchen sink, backs her up into the breakfast bar. Therese sits upon it, braces herself with her hands behind her, Carol pushing between her knees and clutching at her with low, frantic sounds. Carol slides an arm low, around Therese’s hips, dragging her right to edge of the bar and right against Carol’s body, slotted between her hips. The pressure is sweet and maddening. Therese whimpers; Therese moans. She grabs at Carol’s hair, fingers tightening in the blonde locks as they devour each other, as the heat between Therese’s legs seems to spread out like Carol’s fingers on her back—fingers that find the catch of her bra and slip it loose.

Carol tosses it aside, pulls back just enough to stare down at her naked chest, to cup her small breasts and slide her thumbs against nipples that are already hard and tender.

“God, look at you,” Carol gasps. Her mouth is swollen and red and she kisses Therese again, once, urgent. “God, Therese, I’ve missed you. I—I— _need_ you, please. Please, I’ll be gentle next time, I promise, but right now I—”

Therese lifts her hips; lets Carol drag her underwear down her thighs.

“Yes,” she gasps, grabbing Carol’s hand, moving it between her legs. “Yes, Carol, I’m saying yes!”

A moment later, Carol is inside her. Therese shouts, her head dropping back, her body throbbing with bliss as Carol’s long fingers press deep, and Carol’s mouth lands on her shoulder, biting down. Therese spasms against her. Already those fingers have found a spot so sensitive and needy that every stroke punches a whimper from her chest. She yanks Carol’s mouth to hers, kisses her lewd and open-mouthed and gasping. She hooks her legs behind Carol’s back, pulling her as close as possible.

“Therese,” Carol pants into her mouth. “God, Therese, you… you feel amazing. Jesus Christ, you feel amazing. Do you have any idea, Dearest? How good you feel?” Therese whines, trembles, the words almost as arousing as Carol’s fingers hooked inside her. When they made love on the road, Carol praised her body, murmured to her that she was beautiful and tasted sweet and felt amazing. Therese remembers what an impact it had on her then. It’s even more impactful, now. She feels herself, so much wetter than before; hears the sounds of Carol sliding in and out of her, obscene. And Carol keeps talking, her voice raw, almost delirious, “Dreamt of this. Wanted this… so much. God, you’re so tight.”

As if to prove it, Therese clenches, nearly comes, whimpers in helpless desperation. Carol chuckles at her body’s response, a low, sinful chuckle, and whispers in her ear, “Do you like that, Angel? Do you like when I talk to you? When I tell you how good you feel?”

“Y-yes—”

“Do you like knowing that I never stopped thinking about you? That I ached for you? That I’m aching for you now?”

Therese whimpers, because if Carol can’t stand to be gentle, then Therese can’t stand to be patient. She reaches down, trying to move Carol’s hand, trying to give herself something to grind against. “Please,” she says, “Please, Carol, I need—”

Suddenly Carol lays a hand on her chest, and it takes hardly any encouragement for Therese to fall onto her back on the bar. Carol pushes Therese’s thigh up, toward her chest, spreading her open and lowering her mouth and—

Therese sobs with relief.

If she felt pleasure before, now it is burning her up from the inside. Carol’s tongue rubs her clit in slow, mind-melting strokes, just as it did in Waterloo. That time, she hardly knew what was happening, hardly understood how anything could feel so delicious, and in her shyness and uncertainty she had stopped herself from grabbing Carol’s head—even though it was all she wanted to do. Instead, she’d pressed her hand against her own mouth, to muffle her sounds, to try to somehow keep herself contained…

Now, she weaves her fingers through Carol’s hair, and rocks her hips up into her mouth, into her hand, that is still thrusting into her. She becomes aware of little sounds, little choked cries, escaping her, sharper and sharper, like waves coming ashore, like the waves moving in her own body. Deeper, stronger, inexorable, a wall of pleasure building inside her, destructive and chaotic and _she wants it wants it wants_ —

_Oh… God… Yes!_

It’s as if something detonates, in the center of her body, in the throbbing point of her clit and the weeping ache of her cunt. Shockwaves shoot outward, travel through her limbs, devastate her self-control. She rocks and grinds and convulses in an exquisite, pounding surge, an agony past endurance, a relief that floods her with joy. Carol holds her down, holds her tight, rubs her fingers inside and keeps licking and sucking her and moaning against her sex, as if she will never stop. Therese’s eyes squeeze shut, the violence of her climax almost frightening, but so good, so perfect, so much what she has needed and wanted and dreamt of—

It feels like minutes pass before in exhaustion she gasps out, “Oh _please_. Please, Carol, I—I can’t…”

Instantly, Carol lifts her mouth, the shock of separation sending another pulse through Therese’s sex. She falls back, limp and trembling, she can’t stop trembling. She needs—she needs—

Carol flows over her. Arms wrap around her, pulling her up, into her embrace. Therese feels weak and shivery, can barely find the strength to hold Carol back. Carol, still fully dressed, murmurs into her ear, stroking her and soothing her and locking Therese’s legs around her waist, slipping her arms under her ass, and—

Therese yelps in surprise, as Carol lifts her off the bar.

“Hold on to me,” Carol says.

Blinking in astonishment, Therese does. She knows that she’s lost weight, that she’s smaller than Carol, that Carol is tall and strong, but even so—she’s unprepared for the intense eroticism of Carol carrying her out of the kitchen, down the hall, into a room that is shadowy and warm and—thank God!—has a bed.

They land in an ungainly heap, bouncing, and Therese erupts in giggles. Soon Carol rises to look at her, eyebrows cocked. In the dim light of a single bedside lamp, her gray eyes are like the silver moon.

“What’s so funny, Ms. Belivet?” she teases.

To which Therese responds with a blissful sigh, head dropping back against the pillows, eyes sliding shut as tendrils of pleasure continue their meandering paths through her body, “Oh, God, Carol… I think… You almost killed me.”

Carol chuckles throatily, “Oh?”

Therese opens her eyes, nodding. She looks into Carol’s eyes, and at her lips, and back and forth. _‘God, she’s beautiful.’_ Therese thinks. _‘Otherworldly. Mine.’_

“Worth the wait?” Carol asks.

Therese laughs softly, amazed that all her pain, all her loneliness and fear, have come to this. Have given her this. And even though a moment ago she felt spent and weak, now in a surge of confidence, she arches up. Takes her mouth. Gasps into her kiss, “More, Carol. Give me more.”

Carol makes a sound of sheer delight—and gives her exactly what she wants. Gives it to her twice, and a third time, hands and tongue and lips moving… all over her. Possessive, possessing, divine. Oh, if Therese ever wondered what it was like to believe in God, she knows now. God is Carol, worshiping her body. God is Carol, letting Therese strip her out of her clothes, til they are naked and flushed and slick with sweat and sex and need.

It’s unlike anything Therese has felt before. In Waterloo, Carol’s touch was a revelation, but Therese was so overwhelmed, afraid almost of seeming to need too much. At the Drake, their lovemaking was tinged with grief and fear. Both nights, the intensity of emotion exhausted them, and they fell asleep quickly, wrapped in each other’s arms.

This time is different. This time is full of joy and brightness and delight. Therese feels like she is an entirely new person, set loose in a palace of pleasure. She is not shy. She is not uncertain. She knows exactly what she wants—and takes it. The bed is large, a kingdom unto itself, and Therese rolls Carol beneath her, sliding down onto her belly, between her thighs. She looks up the length of Carol’s gorgeous body, and grins from ear to ear. Carol is panting, eyes bright with lust and need.

“Can I?” Therese asks, impishly.

“Jesus Christ,” Carol groans, pressing her head back into the pillows and restlessly shifting her hips. “Please. Please, Therese, please, I need—”

Her voice cuts off; she cries out, canting forward into Therese’s hungry, devouring mouth. The taste of her—it’s intoxicating. Sweet and tart and heavy. Slick and warm and delicious. Therese has only done this once before, in Chicago, and it is even better than she remembers. Maybe because there is no shyness in Carol—no reluctance, no anxious murmurs of, _‘Darling, you don’t have to—_ ’

No, clearly this time, as far as Carol is concerned, Therese _has to_. And Therese does, licking and suckling and swallowing, face covered in Carol’s wetness, fingers coming between them, and slipping inside. Carol wails, her back arching off the bed, face turned away, her hands fisting in the sheets. Therese keeps licking her, watching her, wishing she could see her eyes—

“Therese,” Carol moans, “Oh, Therese, oh God—don’t stop. Please don’t stop I’m—I’m so—”

Therese lifts her mouth away. Carol nearly sobs in frustration, looking down at her with drunk, confused, desperate eyes. Therese feels a twinge of guilt, but she needs—

“Look at me, Carol,” she says. “Please? Please, I—stay with me. Look at me.”

Panting, shivering, Carol blinks a few times. And then, as realization hits, her lips part and she moans and nods and says, “Yes, Darling—yes, I’m here. Touch me. I’m here.”

“Tell me,” Therese begs her, and lowers her mouth again.

Carol shudders under her tongue—but she does not look away. She stares directly into Therese’s watchful eyes, and says between little panting moans, “I—I love you. I’m here. Never—never leaving you again. Never, I promise. Oh, honey, yes, just like that. Oh, God, you feel so good. Can’t live without this. Can’t live with you. Not again, oh—”

Therese moans against her, crooks her fingers harder, laves her clit in firm, precise circles, and Carol sobs again.

“Missed you so much. Dreamt of you—every night. Oh, God, there—yes—yes—just there. A little—a little harder. Oh, _fuck_!”

Her eyelids start fluttering, out of her control. Therese watches her fight like hell to keep them open, to keep her promise, to look at her, but—

“It’s okay, Carol,” she tells her gently, “Come for me. It’s okay.”

She licks her again, just as Carol asked. Instantly, Carol’s eyes roll back. Her hips rut forward. She makes a short, choking sound, and freezes. For several moments she is utterly silent, no sound in the room but Therese’s hungry mouth. Therese watches her in awe, every line of her magnificent body taut and vibrating, and then she feels it, the throbbing of her cunt as she comes, the flood of her wetness, leaking out around Therese’s fingers, running down her wrist. Carol keens, louder and more helpless than she has ever been, ethereal, divine, and Therese licks her through it, strokes her through it, holds her in the palm of her hand until with a shuddering whine, Carol jerks, and goes limp.

Therese lifts her mouth but keeps her fingers inside, holding them still, feeling the echoes of Carol’s release. Carol lies panting, face pressed into the back of her wrist. Slowly, gently, Therese withdraws, crawling up her body to lay atop her.

“Carol,” she whispers, “I love you. I love you.”

It’s then Therese sees the tears leaking from her eyes, but she knows they are not pain, but overwhelming relief, transported joy. Therese nuzzles her wrist aside and kisses her eyelids, her forehead, her jaw, before Carol turns her face and they are kissing, slow like molasses. It seems a long time before Therese finally pulls back and Carol’s eyes flutter open, glassy, bright, and the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

“Therese,” she whispers, cupping her cheek.

Therese smiles at her, wide and happy and grateful. Carol’s thumb touches the dip of her dimple, and Carol is smiling, too. They gaze at each other for long moments, overcome, before Carol in a tone of aching awe and gratitude whispers, “You waited.”

And Therese, heart overflowing, reminds her, “I told you I would.”


	5. I Miss You (Part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their short and excruciating conversation has not stopped replaying in her head since. Even now, almost a week later, she feels haunted by it, haunted by Therese. She can’t eat. She can’t sleep. Over and over again she hears her voice in her head, broken but certain, saying, ‘I miss you…’
> 
> Before reading this, I encourage you to read part 1 in Alterations. You can find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27110296/chapters/66200029

This is a terrible idea.

This is _such_ a terrible idea, so foolish, so reckless. Carol reaches for her cigarettes, hands shaking, barely able to get a light. She looks around the backroom of Abby’s furniture shop, trying to distract herself. There’s some new stock in, a sofa still wrapped in plastic and two armchairs and a table that actually gets Carol’s attention for a moment, the artistry impressive. But then she hears the bell over the door in the front of the shop jangle, and her nerves jangle, looking sharply toward the sound. She hears Abby’s shop assistant greet a new customer, and deflates. She smokes, restlessly.

There’s a clock on the wall and Carol stares at it unblinking for several moments. 12:36 p.m. Carol has been here since noon, hiding in the back like a criminal. Seeing Abby is a risk. Just two days ago Fred reminded her that it was best to cut off all ties with people whom Harge’s lawyer had cited as “poor influences.” Carol informed him that while she would be cautious, she would not cut off ties from Abby. He at least had the sense to recognize when a battle had already been lost, and didn’t lecture her about it.

But he did ask, “I assume you’re not still seeing… the girl?”

Bile had risen in Carol’s throat, remembering the call four nights ago. Their short and excruciating conversation has not stopped replaying in her head since. Even now, almost a week later, she feels haunted by it, haunted by Therese. She can’t eat. She can’t sleep. Over and over again she hears her voice in her head, broken but certain, saying, _‘I miss you…’_

She told Fred, “No, I’m not seeing Therese.”

And she’s not. But—

“You look awful,” Abby said to her last night, with her typical frankness. Carol wasn’t even offended. She does look awful. Uncommonly pale, dark circles under her eyes, hair limp. And she feels worse. Feels sick at heart and so… _weak_. Abby, regarding her shrewdly, said, “Something happened. What happened?”

Carol didn’t bother hiding it. She told her all about Therese’s call. Therese’s questions. Carol’s response.

Abby’s lips pressed together in a thin line and she said in a hard voice, “You can’t lead her on like that, Carol.”

Carol answered waspishly, “I’m not leading her on. It’s what I want. It’s what I should have told her before I left—that I—that I hoped some day we could—”

She faltered, and Abby reminded her, “But you didn’t tell her that. You didn’t tell her anything. No, don’t look at me like that, you dunce, I’m not telling you off. I’m just saying you… hurt that girl. And I feel a little responsible for her now, to be honest. I don’t want you putting ideas in her head if at the end of it you’re just going to throw her away again.”

That was too much, “I didn’t throw her away!” Carol snapped. “I was trying to… to protect her! From Harge, from—from all of _this_.”

“Were you?” interrupted Abby, and her voice was hard, and her stare was hard, and Carol went silent as if she’d been slapped.

This was what she had been telling herself: that she did what she did because she had to. Because she was protecting Therese. Because she was fighting for Rindy. Even Therese seemed to understand it. In her call, there was no recrimination. Grief, yes, and regret—but also, understanding. Generosity. A glimmer even of hope. But last night, under Abby’s hard stare, it was as if a wall that Carol had built collapsed around her. A wall that was also a shield, helping her ignore the truth.

And the truth was, she didn’t do it to protect Therese. She did it to protect herself. She did it out of selfishness, out of arrogance, out of self-preservation, and now…

Standing in the searchlight of Abby’s knowing stare, Carol had realized all at once what she had to do. She felt the pounding terror in her breast, and yet the words came anyway.

“I need to speak to her,” Carol said.

Abby gave her a wary look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I should have talked to her, really talked to her, the first time. Do you think she—what if I—”

Abby said, “You want to call her?”

“No… No, I… I want to see her. I _have_ to see her.” 

For a moment neither of them said anything, and then Carol looked Abby in the eye. “Will you help me?”

Even now, she wonders at her own temerity. She has asked Abby for so much, too much. Will she ever be worthy of such friendship? Will she ever make it up to her? Yes, she vows, smoking furtively in the backroom of Abby’s furniture shop. Yes, somehow, she’ll make amends for all the hurt she’s caused, make it up to Abby, make it up to Rindy, make it up to Therese—

The clock reads 12:41.

The door over the shop jangles again. This time there is no sound of greeting, and Carol’s body locks up. Several seconds pass, and the silence feels immense, feels terrifying—until with an aged creak, the back door opens. Abby comes in first, looking grim, and in her wake—

Therese…

Carol is not prepared for the sight of her. For some reason she imagined her looking just as she did the day they met: dark hair bobbing around her chin, black dress over a green turtleneck, eyes big as saucers—a fresh-faced, beautiful girl.

But the Therese standing before her now is a woman, in every sense.

She has cut her hair short, pinned back over her ears in a bob that is the height of modern fashions. She wears a fine skirt and suit jacket, cinched at the waist, elegant. Over her arm hangs, not the old coat from their road trip, but something new and sleek. She wears earrings. She wears makeup—subtle and refined and making her green eyes somehow brighter, more magnetic, more… consuming.

She is exquisite, in every sense of the word, and she is looking at Carol in solemn, cautious silence. Carol’s tongue knots. She is too overwhelmed to do anything but stare at her, thoughts repeating over and over, _my angel my darling my love..._

Yet again, Abby saves them.

“I’m closing up the shop for lunch,” she announces. “That gives you half an hour.” Then, with a dry smirk, “Please don’t break anything.”

Before Carol can berate her for the comment, Abby has gone out the door again, leaving them alone in the back room. Therese’s cheeks have pinked, showing that some of the girl she was remains. Carol feels deep relief. She is not a stranger, however much she has grown up and grown out of Carol.

Carol says, “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

Therese’s brow furrows. After a moment, she says, “I didn’t think you’d call.”

Carol puts out her cigarette, swallowing. She says in a forcedly light tone, “It’s nice of you to see me—”

The brows only furrow deeper; Therese looks confused, but also, hurt. “Don’t say that,” she pleads, and Carol is washed in shame. Of course. What a cruel thing of her to say—as if they were just friendly acquaintances. As if they had not created between them something tender and delicate and brave.

For a moment they just stand there, looking at each other. Carol had a whole plan for what she was going to say, a speech full of declarations and promises and passion. Now, all she can do is stare at her. Soon, Therese grows awkward.

“What?” she asks.

Carol shakes herself, says, “Nothing, I… You look… different. I don’t mean in a bad way, I mean—you look very fine, Therese.”

It’s a tremendous understatement. Therese looks gorgeous. Therese _is_ gorgeous, in every line of her body. But now she tugs at the hem of her jacket, anxious. She says, “I have an interview, this afternoon. At _The Times_.”

Pure joy floods Carol’s chest. Tears fill her eyes. “Really?” she asks.

Therese’s eyes dart away. “Yes, it’s a clerk position. In the photography department.”

“Oh, Therese! I—that’s _so_ wonderful, Darling! You—you have no idea how pleased I am for you. I know you’ll get the job. You’re so—you’re so talented and I…” 

She trails off, because Therese looks embarrassed. Her cheeks flush again. It is the most enchanting, beautiful sight, but also, so nerve-wracking. She doesn’t want Therese to be embarrassed in front of her. She’s afraid suddenly that she is making everything worse. 

Then Therese says, “I’m sorry I called you. I’m sorry if that made things… more difficult for you.”

Carol’s heart stutters. “It’s didn’t,” she insists, stepping closer to her, conscious of how Therese marks the space between them. “Dearest, you… have _nothing_ to apologize for.”

Therese looks at her cautiously. “I think Abby is angry that I came. I think she thinks I’m putting you at risk.”

“She’s not angry at you, Therese, she’s angry at me.”

A frown of confusion. “Why is she angry at you?”

Carol swallows, pained, humiliated. But she promised herself. She promised that even if it meant humbling herself, she would be honest with Therese.

“She’s angry because she knows… that I’ve treated you terribly. She’s angry because she thinks I’m going to hurt you again.”

Therese says nothing, pensive, watchful. Carol would give anything in that moment to know what she’s thinking—and she nearly laughs at that, because here, too, is something about Therese that hasn’t changed.

Then Therese tells her, “I think you’ve hurt Abby, too, Carol. I don’t know that it’s… fair. You involving her like this again.”

Stricken, Carol can’t think what to say. It takes her a long time to get her voice to work, to nod her head and say, “You’re right. I can’t seem to stop… hurting the ones I love.”

Therese’s eyes widen. She breathes in, sharply, and holds it. For a moment, neither of them breathes. Then Therese seems to forcedly let it out, to recover herself. Carol’s thoughts flash with a memory—Therese beneath her, sucking in air, overcome by the crest of her pleasure—

“Abby told me what happened, between the two of you,” says Therese, jolting Carol back into the present. “How it started so suddenly, and then just… changed.”

Carol swallows, emotions swinging like a pendulum. “Yes. It did, for us. For me, first. It took us a long time to come back from it, and we lost each other, for a while. But in the end we realized that we gave each other more than we had lost. That it was enough—enough to want the friendship to go on.”

Therese glances away. She holds her coat against the front of her body, almost like a shield, and her eyes flit about the shop, taking everything in. Carol nearly weeps at the sight of it—of Therese… looking. Wasn’t that one of the things that struck Carol, from the start? How Therese _looked_ at things? _Watched_ things? Absorbed the world with those large, solemn eyes and found in it the subjects of her photographs? There were times on the road, at diners, in motel rooms, when Carol realized Therese was looking at her, and there was something… holy… about it. As if in those looks Therese baptized her, saved her, made her real.

Therese asks, “Is that why you’ve asked me here? Because you’re hoping that we can be friends?”

Startled, Carol isn’t immediately sure how to respond. Therese’s expression holds a deep sadness now, but also, openness. In shock Carol realizes that if she really were here to tell Therese that she wants to be friends, why—Therese would accept it! Therese would accept friendship, rather than not have her at all. This was Abby’s choice, too, and Carol will never stop being grateful to her for the strength of character that has allowed it, them, to survive. But Carol has no such strength. Carol could never make the concession that Abby has made, that Therese is apparently willing to make. The thought alone is abhorrent to her.

Softly, hoarsely, she says, “I can’t just be friends with you, Therese. Even if I never get to touch you again, never kiss you, never have you for my own—I will love you. I could never not love you.”

Therese goes stock still, blinking rapidly. Carol feels a hit of dread at her expression. Oh, God, she’s making a mess of this, isn’t she? Just—doing everything wrong, out of order, failing to explain—

“You love me?”

Carol whimpers, actually whimpers, her pain and longing leaking out of her. Thirty-two years of ingrained pride, of head-held-high aloofness, tell her to squash that sound and never make it again. Tell her to recover her dignity. To make her excuses. To somehow reclaim the upper hand. But it’s all useless. A lifetime of training to be distant and removed is of no help to her, when Therese has gotten under her skin, into her veins. There is no _removing_ herself from that.

“Yes,” she whispers. “I… I do. I love you, Therese.”

Therese’s breaths are coming a little more shallowly than before. She looks stunned, but also, terrified, and Carol’s heart clenches in despair. She had hoped… she thought that maybe Therese would—

“I don’t…” Therese whispers. “I… don’t understand why you’re… telling me this.”

Now the lump in Carol’s throat is big enough to choke her. Her eyes cut away. She answers miserably, “After what I’ve done to you… I understand if you can’t… if you don’t feel the same way.”

Therese’s answer is an incredulous, “What?”

Carol looks at her cautiously. Now Therese seems completely baffled, staring at Carol for long moments with her lips apart and unable to make words, until in a burst she exclaims, “What are you talking about? _Of course_ I love you!”

This time Carol’s eyes widen. This time she is the one who gapes at Therese, stunned.

“I’ve always loved you,” Therese says, almost impatiently—as if this were never in question, as if Carol should have known. But Carol didn’t know, and so Carol is staring at her in a combination of shock and cautious, gathering joy. Until Therese declares, “I thought you knew! I thought it didn’t matter! How could if have mattered, when you chose to leave me, anyway? And now—I don’t understand. Has something changed? With Harge and Rindy?”

Carol swallows, heart hammering, and says, “No. Nothing has changed. Harge is still keeping her away from me. He’s still threatening to use the tapes. He’s demanding that I never see you again.”

Therese goes slightly pale; her eyes flash with anger. She says, “Then I don’t understand, Carol. Why did you bring me here? If nothing has changed, why am I here?”

“I did it because—” Carol’s voice cuts off, terror immobilizing her for a moment, before she chokes it down and meets Therese’s eyes and says, “I asked you to come here so that we… can decide what to do.”

Therese’s confusion is as stark as her beauty. She opens her mouth and closes it. She says, “So that… _we_ can decide?”

“Yes.”

“Carol,” Therese makes an exasperated sound. In some fascination Carol realizes that she has never seen her young lover quite so fired up—except in bed. And that thought that spears Carol with anxious desire, that she struggles to tamp down. This isn’t the time. Therese tells her, “Carol, this is your _daughter_ we’re talking about. I can’t tell you what to do! I can’t—” 

“I don’t want you to tell me what to do,” Carol interrupts her. “I said… I want us to decide, together.” Therese frowns at her, still confused, and obviously cautious. Carol takes a deep breath, and explains, “I was wrong, Therese, do you understand? What I did in Chicago. It was wrong.”

Therese’s brow furrows in question. She’s still a little pale. Still a little baffled. Still… _so beautiful_. God, she is the most beautiful thing Carol has ever seen, and Carol wants her so desperately, and Carol is so afraid that it won’t matter. Suddenly, her shape, her face, go blurry—Carol’s tears obscuring her. Perhaps it’s this, this obscuration, that gives Carol the courage to go on. And even so she must fight for every breath and every word.

“I made a decision, a tremendous decision. I made it for both of us—but I had no right. I had no right to cut you out like that, to treat you as if I—didn’t care what you thought. And I don’t know what’s going to happen, Therese, I don’t. But you called me and you asked me if—if—it was just imagination. If we could be together again. And I can’t make that decision for us. I need us to make it together. I need us to be… equal.”

This is as far as Carol’s plans got—this declaration. This entreaty. Now that she’s said the words, she swallows hard and breathes in and out and waits. She blinks her tears away. She watches Therese, and Therese watches her. Therese is silent for a long time, still clutching her coat. And then, all of the sudden, she breathes a sigh. All of the sudden she walks to the nearest of the armchairs and lays her coat across it, and she turns back to Carol. She steps toward her, slowly, until there are only three or so steps between them. She crosses her arms over her chest and looks up into Carol’s face, and somehow the posture is not hostile or defensive. It’s almost businesslike, as if they are about to debate the price of furniture.

Therese asks in a voice that is strikingly no nonsense, “What are our options?”

Carol swallows hard. This is not a rejection. This is not a refusal.

Tentatively she asks, “What… what do you think our options are?”

A sigh, but it’s slightly amused, which takes Carol by surprise. Therese looks at the ground for a moment, and then steps just a few inches closer. This nearness is… overwhelming. When Therese looks up at her again, Carol can see every detail of her beloved face. It occurs to her how little intimacy they really had on their road trip. The brush of a nose against her throat. A hand touching hers in the diner. There were those two nights, of course. There was the morning after New Year’s, when Carol returned to her in bed and made love to her again in the light of day. There was that moment after they had packed, when Therese slid her arms around her and they stood a moment, just holding each other. But all those moments, added up, amount to so little. And now Therese is standing close to her, and it’s all Carol can do not to grab her and pull her into her arms. She wants to, so much.

But Therese is all business.

“It seems to me,” the young woman says, “that we have three options. The first is that we say goodbye. We end it, here and now, and walk away from each other.”

Just the words make Carol’s body seize with terror. She thinks of her letter, that damned letter, that imagined a perpetual sunrise. To take this option, to walk away—it would be perpetual darkness. It would be night, with no hope of the morning.

The only relief from this thought is that Therese’s face, serious and a little angry, declares that she hates this option just as much as Carol does. They reject it, wordlessly. Together.

“Our second choice is to see each other in secret. To hide, and hope that Harge doesn’t hire any more detectives.”

Carol knows that this idea should make her wretched, too. Hiding, sneaking around—it’s not only distasteful, but it’s dangerous, and so unfair to Therese. Carol knows this. But Carol also knows that this is the option that would allow her to see Therese. To touch her. To kiss her. And Carol is weak. She is starved for the softness of Therese’s skin, for the fullness of that mouth that she has kissed so few times. She longs for Therese’s company, for her nearness, for her voice. Does she have the courage, the integrity, to give that up?

Carol swallows. Asks, “And the third option?”

Therese breathes in slowly, as if girding herself, and then—she steps closer. She steps so close that they are almost touching. So close that Carol can smell the scent of her hair. Can feel the fan of her breath. Can practically taste her.

“The third option,” says Therese, “is that we wait.”

It’s all Carol can do not to whimper her objection. But it must show in her face, because something new glitters in Therese’s eyes—humor. Knowledge. Hunger. Yes, that’s hunger in her eyes, Carol is sure of it. Recognizes it. Therese shifts forward. She touches Carol’s hand. Just the barest brush of fingers sends a shockwave through Carol’s body.

“We can wait,” Therese whispers, looking at where their hands touch. “It won’t be forever. You can _fight_ him, Carol. Beat him. And afterwards…”

“I don’t know how to wait,” Carol admits, an edge of desperation in her voice. “It’s only been a month. I—I _miss_ you, Darling.” Therese’s eyes flash back to hers, suddenly fierce. Carol says it again, “I miss you… _so much_.” 

This moment ought to be somber. It ought to roil with grief and anger and despair, the despair of their separation, forced to go on. Because yes, this is their only feasible option. They will have to wait. And it should devastate her. But Therese’s eyes. Therese’s lips, parting. Therese’s fingers, touching hers. She sees no grief or despair in this beautiful woman’s face. She sees only that fierceness. Determination. Hope. And yes— _love_. There’s love in Therese’s eyes. The kind that doesn’t break.

“I know,” Therese whispers. Their fingers weave together. With her other hand, Therese reaches for her face, cradles it, sweeps a thumb against her lip. “I miss you, too.”

Carol’s tears well again. They overflow her eyes and stream down her cheeks and she doesn’t understand it but somehow her tears are… happy. For the first time in weeks, she can see the glow of the sun over the horizon. Faint. But it’s there.

Therese brushes the tears away.

“Don’t cry,” she pleads. “My love… don’t cry.” 

Carol sobs—and pulls her in.

“I _will_ fight him, Therese,” Carol whispers urgently, against her hair, against her neck, where she presses her face and breathes her in. “I won’t let him take everything from me. I swear it.”

Therese, arms around her, squeezes tight and answers, “I know. I know you won’t, Carol. You are the most incredible woman I’ve ever met. You can do anything. I just wish that I could… _help_ you. Waiting. It’s the right thing, but—I can’t bear not to help you, somehow.”

Carol releases a wet laugh, pulls back to cradle her lover’s face, “Darling, if you only knew how much this, holding you like this, helps me.” 

Therese seems to press even closer to her. “Really?” she asks, sweet and hopeful.

“Yes. Don’t you understand? Before—I went off to battle and left my heart behind. For the first time in weeks, I feel like—I feel like my heart is beating again.”

Therese makes a low sound, her face lifting, her nose touching Carol’s neck as she breathes her in. Carol shivers. “Me, too,” whispers Therese. “Me, too.”

And all Carol can do is sigh, blissful, aching, happy, and she thinks this will be enough. But then, by some mutual understanding, they pull back to look at each other. And the moment they do, something catches. A lit match. Therese’s nostrils flare, her lips part—and Carol knows that it wasn’t enough, after all. 

They move at the same time, lips connecting with a deep and bruising force. In an instant Therese’s arms are looped around her neck, and Therese is up on her tiptoes, breasts pressed into hers. Carol holds her by the waist with one hand, guides her face with the other, kissing her hungrily. Therese makes a soft sound of need, and Carol finds herself being guided back, coaxed by the pressure of Therese’s hips against her own. A few moments later, and she’s dropping onto the sofa, plastic crinkling beneath them as Therese crawls into her lap, straddles her thighs, grabs her face and kisses her—furiously.

“I love you,” Carol gasps. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for everything. I love you.”

Therese stops her words with kisses, slides her tongue into her mouth. Carol feels as if her bones have liquified, pleasure and need brought to a height before she can catch her breath. Therese’s hands land on her shoulders, squeezing, slipping under her collar where Carol’s skin is hot and aching like a fever. In consternation she realizes that her dress is too form-fitting to get off easily. But Therese is wearing a loose skirt. Carol pushes it up toward her thighs, frantic to touch her. 

Therese’s fingers clench against her. She groans, “We can’t. Carol, Abby will—we _can’t_!”

“Please,” Carol hisses, hands on her thighs, slipping under the clasps of her garter belt to touch smooth, bare skin. “Please, just—just let me touch you.”

Therese whimpers, hips canting forward. That’s all the permission Carol needs. Abby is going to _kill_ her and she doesn’t fucking care. She finds the waistband of Therese’s panties, tugging them as far down her thighs as she can. Suddenly Therese’s hand is on her wrist—not to stop her, but to guide. She remembers Chicago. Remembers the love they made before she left her. Remembers touching her inside, for the first time. The liquid heat of her. That same heat greets her now, silky on her fingers.

“Can I?” she gasps.

Therese arches and nods, color flooding her cheeks. There’s so little room to move, but it doesn’t matter. Carol wedges her hand between her thighs, and a moment later her fingers are inside her. Therese shouts—a short burst of startlement and delight, her head tipped back as Carol starts to move.

This is not the first time Carol has made love to a woman while fully clothed. It’s not the first time she’s experienced the particular rush of working around a woman’s underwear, a woman’s dress. The titillation of it—the _hurry!_ and _faster!_ and _shh, not so loud!_ No it’s not the first time.

But it is the first time with Therese. And with Therese, what should feel risqué and risky is imbued with the deepest, most desperate joy. With a sensation of homecoming. With a charge of safety. And she will keep Therese safe, she vows it now. Fingers crooked inside and heel pressed to her clit and mouth panting against Therese’s mouth, she is filled with a furious devotion. If they are to part ways again, if they are to wait, and bide their time, then Carol will not let her go without this memory. It will be a talisman, something for them to hold in their separation. Something to remind them that they are strong. She kisses Therese hard, licks into her mouth and relishes the little gasping breaths she gets in return. Her love, transported.

Therese gulps for air, pulling back enough that Carol can see her pupils, wide and black and hazy with lust. Carol puts a little more force into her stroking fingers, and Therese whines helplessly.

“Carol,” she sounds caught between need and uncertainty. “Carol I—I—what if—if Abby—”

“Shh, Darling, relax,” Carol soothes her. “There’s no one here. It’s just us. You and me, Angel. Does it feel good?”

Therese makes a sound that is half laugh, half sob, flowing forward to kiss Carol again. She nods frantically, and while before her hips had moved restively, without focus, now, she finds a rhythm. She starts rocking, lifting up and sinking down, chasing the things Carol does to her. 

“Let it feel good,” Carol tells her, voice a rumble of hunger. “Let me make you feel good.”

“You do,” Therese gasps. “Oh, God, Carol, you do. Missed you. Missed you so much. God—love you. Love you, please, God—”

This, Carol realizes with glee, is something she remembers. Therese, babbling as she gets close. It didn’t happen at the Drake, but it happened in Waterloo, and it was, it is, absolutely electrifying.

“Please, please, tell me,” Therese whimpers, opening her eyes to stare straight into Carol’s, “Please—promise me. Promise me Carol, please—”

“I love you,” Carol tells her, rubbing her inside, rubbing her outside. “I promise. I love you.”

“The—the—” Therese shivers helplessly, “the sunrise? It—it—”

“It’s real, Darling. It’s ours.”

“S-soon?”

“Yes, Sweetheart, soon. That’s it, good girl, come on—”

Tears are leaking from Therese’s eyes. Her mouth drops open, her hands seize Carol’s hair. And then all at once, she’s there. Her thighs clench. Her sex throbs. A rushing wind seems to go through her, her whole body locking for an instant, and then collapsing into tremors as she breaks. Carol feels her inside, a violent ripple of release. Therese chokes on a cry, shaking, and Carol can do nothing but watch her in awe.

It takes her a long time to calm down. Carol winds an arm around her waist and holds her close, mouth set against her shoulder. It’s all she can do not to suck, not to bite. But she remembers: an interview at _The Times_. _Her_ Therese, a _Times_ photographer! Carol feels such joy, such pride, that she almost weeps with it. She’ll get the job, Carol knows it. She’ll start her career just as she should. And someday, soon, Carol will stand beside her. She knows that, too.

After a while, Therese’s head drops forward onto her shoulder, nuzzling into her with the insistence of a possessive cat. Carol chuckles, and then, carefully, withdraws her hand. Delights in the aftershock that shivers through Therese’s limp body.

Therese mumbles something incoherent, and Carol makes a questioning sound. She feels Therese swallow, fighting for words. “I want… I want to touch you.”

Carol sighs, both gratified and regretful. “I know, Darling. I’m sorry. There isn’t time.”

“I miss… miss your skin,” Therese says.

Carol slides her hands under Therese’s sweater, stroking the warm dampness of her back. “I know. I missed yours.”

“Couldn’t I—couldn’t I be quick?”

Carol moans, tortured, “Abby will be back any minute.”

Therese makes a fretful sound. Nuzzles into her. Grumbles, “You’re the one who said you wanted us to be equals.”

That startles a laugh from Carol. She reaches up for Therese’s face, pulling it back so that she can look into eyes that are suddenly crinkled with mischief. Carol kisses her, slow and tender. This at least seems to pacify her young lover, who kisses her back. They kiss for a long time. Any moment now, they will hear the bell over the shop door ring, Abby returned from her lunch. Any moment now, they will have to get up, to put themselves to rights, pat down their hair and fix their clothes and wipe the smeared lipstick from each other’s mouths. Just the thought of this encroaching moment, of the separation that must come after, makes Carol’s heart clench.

“Will you think of me?” she asks, weak with need for reassurance. “Will you think of me, while we’re apart?”

“Every day,” Therese tells her. “Every moment.”

Suddenly, they hear it—the jangle of the bell. They pull back, to look at each other. Their eyes lock, and in Therese’s stare she sees more of that fierceness, that courage, that refusal to let love break.

“Every moment,” she repeats, a promise, a vow.

“Every moment,” Carol says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's been kicking around in my WIP folder for awhile. Went back and forth on it a lot; debated whether to have them hook up; debated whether it was too similar to Wait; debated whether to write a part III. Anyway, not sure how it turned out. Let me know what you think. 
> 
> Oh, and don't worry. I'll have an update to Tell Me I'm Here soon.


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